


The 5th of May

by htbthomas



Category: Forever (TV)
Genre: F/M, Forever Ficathon, Groundhog Day, Identity Reveal, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Light Case Fic, Poisoning, Post-Finale, Romance, Temporary Character Death, Time Loop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-05
Updated: 2016-03-05
Packaged: 2018-05-23 21:36:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6130843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/htbthomas/pseuds/htbthomas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Henry had never much believed in destiny, but the last few days were starting to change his outlook. Was his own subconscious trying to tell him that this loop he was trapped in was fate somehow? Or that he could beat it?</p><p>Just how <i>did</i> he go about beating it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic really got away from me! It turned into longfic when I thought it was going to be a quick little lark. Ha!
> 
> The time loop elements only owe slightly to _Groundhog Day_ , but enough that I felt it should be tagged. It's mostly based on this thought: What if Henry were stuck repeating the day of the last two scenes of the series finale? 
> 
> Thanks, as always, to LadySilver.

The whistle of the tea kettle roused Henry from slumber, and he smiled. He was alive, he'd neatly dispatched his nemesis, and Jo was none the wiser. He fairly bounced out of bed, though it was just six a.m., pulling on a blue button-down and a comfortable but fitted pair of trousers and one of his favorite scarves—the blue paisley that people often said brought out his eyes. He needed to look his best, after all. He had an important errand to run. 

When he entered the kitchen, Abe was already there, as expected, sipping a cup of coffee while reading the paper. Henry helped himself to the tea in the center of the table, warm in its cozy. "What are you up for this morning?" Abe asked, not looking up. "Eggs? Toast? A full English breakfast?"

Henry lifted his head with surprise. "I haven't eaten one of those in many years, Abraham. I'm not sure I'm in the mood for baked beans or back bacon, at any rate."

Abe set down his cup. "Eh, no skin off my back. You just came in humming and happy and I figured you might be hungry, too." He rose from his seat and headed for the stove.

"Humming?" He hadn't realized it. Whatever song it was had already faded from memory. "Hmm. But I'm not particularly hungry. Toast will be fine this morning."

Abe nodded absently and popped a couple of slices into the toaster. "Going to visit Adam?" His voice was carefully devoid of tone, and Henry chose to ignore it. They'd already had words about his choice on the banks of the East River.

"I've narrowed it down to two possible hospitals that received John Does yesterday evening. Once I discover his current condition, I can determine my next steps." Henry glanced at the clock. It was still early, but he was feeling impatient. As if the toaster knew his thoughts, the slices of bread popped up. Henry swigged down the last of his tea, rose from the table and plucked a hot slice from over Abe's shoulder. "I think I'll take this to go this morning." Better to avoid the sidelong looks.

He'd guessed the hospital correctly on the first try. He'd pretended to be a concerned bystander who had seen the man collapse on the street. He wouldn't identify Adam as Lewis Farber—the wife and kids from the photos might be real enough to know the truth as Abe did. Adam might be back on the street to torment Henry before the day was out. As he watched Adam's face for signs of playacting, he listened to the doctor describe locked-in syndrome, reacting with mild surprise and concern. And when the doctor had left, he'd sarcastically promised Adam an eternity together.

He caught himself humming again when he was leaving the hospital. What was the tune? Something from the nineteenth century? Perhaps a symphonic melody or an opera aria… No, it was gone again. No matter, the day was young. Later, Jo would call with a new case and he could go on with his twenty-first century life without the specter of Adam's threats hanging over him.

So to find himself an hour later face to face with Jo holding a photo of Henry, Abigail and little Abe from the 1940s was quite disconcerting. "I was hoping you could explain it to me," she had said.

The floor beneath him seemed to drop away, and his face went slack. After everything he'd done to prevent Adam from revealing his secret to Jo—somehow she was on its trail after all. He meant to tell her someday, maybe soon, she deserved that. She had crept into his heart, and she meant more to him than just a colleague, more than just a friend. But he wasn't ready. He needed time to tell her, the right way.

And where had she gotten the photo? From Adam? Was it his backup plan in case the pistol had failed? He took the photo from her, at a loss for words. What could he say? 

Suddenly Abe was there at his elbow. "Tell her." Unspoken was the argument they'd had at the river. _"If Jo knows, then Adam has nothing to hold over you. You keep him a prisoner in his own body, then who knows what he'll do when he eventually escapes!"_

He turned to look at Abe, who nodded. He was so sure that Jo was ready to hear the truth. 

But was she? Trapped between Abe's encouragement and Jo's expectant face, he found himself saying, "It's a long story." 

He gestured for Jo to step into the shop, mind whirling. What could he say? Should he really tell her the truth? Just when he'd decided it could wait? He took another glance at Abe, who had gone ahead to pull out a chair for Jo. "Get you some coffee? Tea?" Abe certainly thought it was time.

But Abe hadn't lived through rejections and sanitariums and jails and witchcraft trials… he was a child of the twentieth century, and had fully embraced the twenty-first. Jo sat in the proffered chair, expectant and aggressively curious, much as she often looked while sitting across the table from suspects in a case. Henry could feel a sweat coming on, and he wasn't even sitting yet.

"This photo," he began, not waiting for Abe to return, "it looks like it came from the 1940s, yes?"

"It does." She held out her hand for the photo again. "But that's impossible, isn't it?" It was the sort of question that invited further explanation.

Henry chuckled and asked a question in return, a habit he'd long learned to use to deflect suspicion. "How could I possibly be in a photo that old?"

She didn't back down. "And with Abe's mother, no less?"

Henry caught himself before he could react. Of course Jo knew that was Abigail. Abe and he had never hidden her photos around the shop, and Jo had been privy to the recent inquiry into Abigail's death in the 1980s (though she still didn't know the shocking parts of it). 

"Is that Abe in the photo? The little boy?" she asked. 

"Sure is," Abe said, walking in with a tray and setting it on a table. Henry kept his disappointment from showing. He'd been hoping to come up with a logical explanation without Abe frowning his disapproval. "Mom and Pop looked so happy in that photo. It's one of my favorites."

Jo nodded as if pieces of a puzzle were clicking together in her mind. "So this,"—she pointed at Henry—"is your father?"

Abe opened his mouth, suddenly seeming to realize that maybe the truth wasn't completely out yet. "Uh," he began, rubbing the back of his head with a hand. "Yeah. Just after we moved to New York."

"Hmm," she said. eyes still on the photo. "That makes a lot of sense."

Henry waited, not willing to help her revelation along. If she came up with the truth, Abe would support it. But there was a chance that she would not…

"Of course she took to you, Henry. You look so much like her late husband." Jo set down the photo. "I've heard of doppelgangers before, but that is just uncanny."

Henry relaxed and Abe frowned behind Jo's shoulder. "They say everyone has one," Henry agreed mildly.

Jo picked up the cup Abe had poured for her and sipped, completely oblivious to the thunderstorm brewing on her host's face. "Do you have any more photos, Abe? I'd love to see how far the similarity runs."

The clouds cleared from Abe's face and he started to smile, a wicked smile that promised nothing good. "I've got a whole box full of 'em," he said, standing. "But it's a little heavy. You want to help me carry it down, Henry?"

That couldn't have been a clearer we're-going-to-have-words-Pop if Abe had said it aloud. Henry cleared his throat. "Well, certainly, I would be happy to, but—"

Jo's cell phone rang in her pocket.

She grimaced and answered it with a short, "Martinez." Henry couldn't hear what was being said, and to be frank, couldn't really pay attention to her reactions because of the series of massively annoyed faces Abe was pulling behind her back. She ended the call. "There's a body. Washed up at the river. Henry, you in? We can look at the photos later."

"Yes, I'd love to come." He walked a couple of steps to the coat rack to grab his overcoat and scarf. "There's plenty of time to look at old photos."

"All the time in the world," Abe said, tone flat and sarcastic. Henry avoided catching his eyes. He'd catch hell enough when he got home this evening.

"Great," Jo said, not picking up on it. "My car is just around the corner."

Henry was never so glad for the sound of the shop bell ringing behind him.

* * *

The whistle of the tea kettle roused Henry from slumber, and he cringed. Normally, it was nice to have that familiar sound as his alarm clock, Abe up before him at six a.m. as usual. But Abe would be quite unhappy with him this morning. It was going to be a tense breakfast.

Yesterday's case had taken the rest of the day, with he and Jo working angles until late in the evening. By the time he came home, Abe was already in bed, a note about leftovers in the refrigerator if Henry wanted them. He was happy that Abe wasn't awake—but he wasn't proud of that. He'd pushed a little harder on the case than usual, and they'd solved it by midnight. Apparent suicide by jumping from a bridge turned out to be poison, which led back to a disgruntled coworker.

So though he'd gone to bed relieved and feeling content at not having to tell the truth another day, he found himself tiptoeing down the hall to the kitchen. Get a hold of yourself, Henry. Abraham is your son, and you are a grown man, capable of making your own decisions. He will have to accept that. He took a deep breath, and strode into the kitchen.

"What are you up for this morning?" Abe asked, not looking up. "Eggs? Toast? A full English breakfast?" 

Henry paused on the way to the tea in its cozy. Why had Abraham chosen those exact words? "I'm still not in the mood for an English breakfast today, just like I wasn't yesterday." He didn't mean the words to come out sounding so peevish, but there it was.

Abe put down his newspaper. "Okay…" He frowned and stood, walking slowly toward the stove. "I'm not sure how I was supposed to know that. Sure, we've lived together for a lot of my seventy years, but I've never been a mindreader."

Henry sat, annoyed. Clearly Abe intended to punish him for yesterday. "Make me whatever you want, Abraham." He lifted the teapot and poured a little more quickly than usual, and the brownish liquid sloshed over the side of his china cup. "You'd be much happier if I just did what you wanted, anyway."

Abe turned around then with a huff, leaning against the counter. "Is this about yesterday?" He shook his head. "Sounds like someone's got a guilty conscience."

That was it. He stood, petulant but not caring. "I know you don't agree with my choice. Or many of my choices lately, but they are mine, and I'm sticking with them." He snatched his overcoat and scarf from the rack and started putting them on. "I'll get my own breakfast, thank you."

Just before he reached the stairs, he heard, "Going to visit Adam?" 

He stopped. Swiveling slowly to face Abraham, he pierced his son with a narrow look. "Perhaps I am." Then he continued down the stairs, out of the shop, and out onto the street. 

Of course, he wasn't. There was no need to go visit Adam, when things were exactly the same as yesterday. He would be dealing with locked-in syndrome until someone decided to release him, which could be decades, considering that hospital staffs turned over employees quickly enough that no one would really notice his never-aging appearance. To visit him again today would be gloating, and even Henry wasn't that unnecessarily cruel.

He didn't really even know where to go for breakfast, since most mornings he ate with Abe. The diner that Abigail and he had often visited after a night shift was long closed. Where did Jo go in the mornings? She often had a to-go cup from one of those ubiquitous coffee and pastry shops. It would probably be in her own neighborhood, or near the precinct…

It was only after raising his hand to flag down a taxi that he stopped himself. Why should he travel for blocks or even miles to get a cup of overpriced coffee and processed-sugar-filled pastry? As much as he wanted to see Jo, there was no rush. He would see Jo the moment there was a case to solve. If he was planning on making himself sick, he could do it somewhere much nearer by. So he began to stroll, humming to himself. There was a coffee shop about a block down, around the corner.

He stopped again. There was that humming. What _was_ the tune? And why was it plaguing him so? He shook his head and kept walking, blessedly tune-free.

She looked up as he walked in. Jo, sitting at a table with a white porcelain cup, not her usual hastily-grabbed paper one. Her eyes went wide in recognition, and after a small pause, she smiled and waved him over. "Henry!"

So he had just considered breakfasting in her neighborhood, but Jo was actually here, in his. He willed his heart to calm. "Jo, what a pleasant surprise. What are you doing in 'our neck of the woods,' as they say?"

"Well, I… was actually coming to visit you." She gestured for him to take a seat, adjusting her personal items on the side of the table, and then went on, "I wasn't sure how early you'd be up and about."

He gave his order to a waitress who appeared and then he removed his overcoat. "If it is about a new case, you could have simply called."

"It's not about a case." She lifted her cup and took a long swallow. "I was hoping to have a little more time to work up my courage, but…" She sighed. "Here goes." She shuffled through her things again and then brought out his pocket watch on her open palm. "I think this is yours."

Henry's mouth opened and closed in confusion. How could he have lost it again so quickly—and without having died first? But he couldn't remember placing it into his waistcoat this morning, he'd been so worried about what Abe was going to say. "You must think me completely absent-minded. I'm sorry. Did I leave it on your desk?"

"No…" she said. "I found it somewhere highly unusual. The subway."

"The subway?" Henry sat back, flummoxed. He hadn't been near the subway yesterday. How was that possible? Had someone stolen it and then dropped it there? "I'm afraid I don't know how it got there, Detective. Perhaps I should dust it for prints…"

Jo shook her head. "That's not necessary. Only yours—and mine, now—are on it." Curious that she knew that without a doubt. "I also…" She reached into her breast pocket and pulled out a photo. "...found this."

As she passed it over, Henry was struck with a powerful sense of déjà vu. It was the same photo as yesterday, the one he swore was now safely hidden in the keepsake box in the back of his closet. Had she made a copy of it before bringing it yesterday morning? And then somehow distressed and aged it? To what purpose? He found himself at a complete loss for words.

"I was hoping you could explain it to me."

When he finally recovered enough to look at her, she was sitting patiently, tapping a finger on the side of her coffee cup. "I… I don't understand," he said. "I thought I explained…"

"Explained what?" She frowned. "I've only had this photo a little while, and I think I'd remember if you explained why an exact duplicate of you is in a photo with Abe's mother."

"But…" He looked into her face. Was it possible that she had been knocked on the head sometime last night after he went home? It rarely happened as much as movies and television made it out to happen, but short-term amnesia was a real condition. He would just have to pretend like this was the first time, and then insist that she visit the hospital. "I'm sorry, I thought you'd seen that photo in the shop, and we'd talked about it. I must have been thinking of someone else. The man in the photo is Abe's father." He set the photo between them on the table. "He and I could be twins, yes?"

"Huh." She moved the photo closer. "That makes a lot of sense. Of course she took to you, if you look so much like her late husband."

"Yes, she treated me as if she'd always known me."

"Crazy," Jo said, as Henry's food arrived. "I've heard of doppelgangers before, but that is just uncanny."

How odd that Jo was using the exact words she had yesterday morning, but in a different setting. He'd only treated a few patients with true amnesia, and he hadn't been privy to the effects quite this personally. He took a bite of his chocolate croissant. "I have more photos back at the shop, if you're interested… but first?" He checked the pocket watch on the table. "I have an errand to run at the hospital. Would you like to come with me?" Once they got there, he could convince her to get checked out.

She checked her phone. "Sure. No calls from the precinct yet. Maybe it'll be a slow day. Let me just text Hanson that I'll be in late…"

They hadn't made it all the way to the hospital in a cab—he insisted, unsure how her brain injury might present itself—when her phone rang. "Looks like I spoke too soon. Martinez." He waited, but her words after ending the call threw him. "There's a body. Washed up at the river. Henry, you in?"

"The river?" Again? What were the odds? He refrained from saying so out loud, since she seemed to have lost an entire day.

"Yeah, looks like a jumper, but they still want us to check it out." He tried to hide his reaction, but Jo picked up on it anyway. "I mean, if you aren't up for it, I can have him drop you by the hospital first."

"No no, I'm fine, the hospital can wait." In fact, going to a crime scene might be good—its similarity to yesterday's case might trigger some recall for her. And if not, then he wouldn't allow anything else to sidetrack them.

"Okay." Jo gave the driver the new address, which was the same as yesterday's as well. Not so strange, given that this time of year the current might wash bodies up along the same stretch, but not expected, either.

But when they arrived, everything was the same. The position, the location, the… victim, down to the workout clothing he'd been wearing. Another case of doppelgangers? For real? Henry took a step back, grabbing onto Jo's shoulder for support.

She was instantly concerned. "Henry? What's wrong? Are you feeling all right?" 

He didn't answer, his mind cataloguing all the details. Everything, down to the CSU team's hair and shoes, was identical to yesterday. Even Jo was wearing the same clothing, had her hair styled the same. How had he missed it, even before he had decided she was suffering from amnesia?

He swallowed. "I'm… uh. May I borrow your phone for a moment?" She nodded, face tense with worry, but passed it over. He pressed the button to turn on the screen and just stared for a moment at the time and date. It wasn't possible. But somehow it was. The date was exactly the same as yesterday's.

May 5, 2015.

"I—I think I need to sit down."


	2. Chapter 2

The whistle of the tea kettle roused Henry from slumber, and his fingers shook as they gripped the blanket. What will today bring? sang the adrenaline in his bloodstream. He glanced at the clock on his bedside table. Six a.m. That was usual; Abe was as much a creature of habit as Henry was—it made living in their odd situation more bearable, more normal. But he couldn't deny that it simply felt the same as yesterday—and the day before. As he sat up, he realized he was wearing the same pajamas as the past two nights, even though he'd fallen asleep in only his undershirt and short pants.

He dressed slowly, carefully, making sure to choose something completely different to wear, trying and failing to ignore the fact that his suit jacket, vest and trousers from the last two days were hanging in his wardrobe clean and pressed, and not rumpled on the floor where he'd left them. 

He did a slow circuit of the room. Yes, the mirror's angle was different; the highball glass of cognac he'd left on his vanity was missing; the rug he'd kicked in frustration after tripping over it was lying flat and perfectly aligned. Was he going insane? There had been times in his past where other people had thought him insane, like Nora, and other times when his despair at his immortality had brought him to the brink of insanity. Maybe he hadn't died and been reawakened after the gunshot wound. He could actually be unconscious in a hospital somewhere, instead of Adam, and dreaming the day again and again. But this felt so real. Unless there were gremlins who delighted in torturing immortal thirty-five year old doctors, he was faced with one conclusion.

He was repeating May 5th—again.

Yesterday—or was that May 5th, Repeat 2?—had made his head spin. It was all too perfect to be an elaborate prank. The victim was exactly the same person, not a twin. When Henry realized it, he retraced his steps to the letter, making sure to follow every clue, every step, waiting for the family, for the murderer, for his colleagues, and especially, for Jo—to repeat their actions and words. They did not disappoint.

They did, however, terrify him. How could the entirety of New York, indeed, the world, be in on it?

He came home at the same time as May 5th, Repeat 1, and instead of sneaking past Abe's room and going to bed, he poured himself a double of his favorite cognac. Then he followed it with a triple. He kept drinking until his vision blurred and his steps faltered. He had been lucky that a pile of clothing on the floor and a tripped-over rug were the only mishaps on the path to bed.

He gazed upon his reflection. There were none of the telltale signs of a hard night of drinking. No dry, bloodshot eyes, no sallow skin. And no pounding headache or hangover. He looked and felt as hale and healthy as he always did the day after a death and reawakening. Only his psyche bore the wounds, as ever.

Was this a new wrinkle of his immortality? Was he now not only doomed to remain thirty-five forever, but doomed to live the same day over and over as well—the new curse of the flintlock pistol?

"Henry? You okay in there?" Abe called from the hallway. "Your tea is going to get cold."

How long had he been standing there, locked in his thoughts? "I will be there in a moment, Abraham," he called back. 

"What are you up for this morning?" Abe asked, still in the kitchen. Henry sighed. He'd been hoping for a different question. "Eggs? Toast? A full English breakfast?"

He didn't feel like anything at all, to be perfectly honest. But a full English breakfast would take time, and since time seemed to be all he had anymore, he might as well use it. "I'd love English breakfast, actually."

There was a pause. "Really? I was just joking, Pops." He took a few steps closer, his feet shuffling on the hardwood. "I'm pretty sure I have baked beans, and regular bacon... but forget back bacon. If you want, I could get some from the butcher shop for tomorrow? There's a place down on—"

"That sounds lovely, just use what you have on hand. Don't go to any extra trouble on my account."

"You sure?"

Henry stepped out into the hallway and gave his son a smile. "Very sure."

Abe tilted his head, as if he could sense something off. He had no idea that he was stuck in this same day with Henry. Or was he? Was another version of Abe living May 6th, May 7th, with some alternate version of Henry? 

Henry closed his eyes, pressing them together against the whirl of thoughts threatening to overtake him.

"Yeah, you don't look sure."

Henry opened his eyes again and placed a hand on Abe's shoulder. "Just a bit of a rough night. With some breakfast in me, I'll be right as rain." He walked past him to the kitchen, picking up the tea kettle to pour himself a cup.

Abe busied himself with preparing the food, silent except for a few mumbles to himself. Henry glanced at the morning newspaper, confirming for himself that it was indeed May 5th again. But that was only a distraction while Henry was waiting for the bomb to drop: _'Are you going to visit Adam?'_ Perhaps Abe was waiting until he'd eaten a few bites.

Instead he started with, "I've heard that it's difficult to sleep on a guilty conscience," just as Henry lifted his first forkful to his mouth. 

Two days ago, he would have set the fork down. Yesterday, he would have dropped it in a fit of pique. Today he simply chewed for a long minute, holding Abe's gaze placidly. He swallowed, and washed it down with a swig of tea before answering. "So I've been told."

Abe shook his head. "I never thought I'd see the day. Henry, you can't leave Adam like that. Your compassion is what separates you from him, what makes you better."

Henry didn't know how long he had originally planned to leave Adam in his condition. Certainly decades, or past the time when Abe and Jo would be in danger of his machinations. But perhaps Adam was trapped in this loop, the same as he. Perhaps if Henry went directly over and stabbed Adam in his bed, he'd be back there in the morning, as if nothing had ever happened. 

"I don't regret what I did, Abraham. I would do it again, a hundred times over, if I thought it would keep you safe."

That seemed to placate Abe. "I know you would." He stirred his beans with a fork. "But surely there's another solution."

Henry sighed. He was doing a lot of that this morning. "Believe me, I've weighed all the options. Killing him would be temporary, never mind that I could never do it, jail time would never last beyond his first prison brawl; revealing his secret would undoubtedly trigger a reveal in return. That leaves even crueler methods of disabling him, like brain injuries or various vegetative states with no function at all."

"All right, I'll give you that. But I still think that taking away his power over you is the best solution of all."

It wasn't. Revealing himself to everyone, especially Jo, was _no_ solution at all. If May 5th ever ended, Henry would simply have to wait it out. 

That seemed to be all Abe had to say on the subject. They finished the rest of the meal in companionable conversation, talking about what Abe planned for the day, whether they wanted to finish up that game of chess begun the day before or maybe just have a stroll. But there was no rush. He had only one appointment to keep.

The doorbell buzzed.

And there it was. Jo at the door, come to return his pocket watch and present him with a photo. Should he answer it? Or should he slip out the back and avoid her? The poisoning victim would not get justice before the end of the day, but Henry knew where and how to find everything, and if tomorrow was actually May 6th, he would happily come in and finish up the case.

The doorbell buzzed again. "You want to get that? I'll clean up here."

Suddenly something snapped within him. He couldn't avoid his feelings and he shouldn't avoid her. He didn't examine this impulse further, and trotted down the stairs to open the door. "Detective!" he greeted her brightly. "Do you have a new mystery for me to solve?"

"Yeah, I think you could say that." She held out the watch in her palm.

Henry took a deep breath. "Thank goodness," he said, taking it from her with a grateful smile and pocketing it. Changing direction from the way this conversation had gone on Repeats 1 and 2, he said, "I suppose you're wondering why you found it in a subway tunnel." He gestured for her to come inside. "If you'll have a seat, I'll explain everything."

She sat, her curiosity plainly showing on her face. "I... also found this." She held out the photo, searching his face for a reaction. "I was hoping you could explain it to me as well."

"Absolutely. That's me, my wife, Abigail, and Abraham."

She blinked a few times. "For a dress-up photo?" Then she seemed to really hear him. "And… Abe? Another Abe?"

"No," he said mildly. "Our Abraham, the Abraham who co-owns this shop."

Jo chuckled then. "Ohh, I see. A joke. Someone good with Photoshop and distressing techniques. Was it you who had it made—no, I'm guessing it was Abe, since you've always acted like you're centuries older." She set down the photo with a relieved smile. "That makes sense."

Henry frowned. He'd come out with the truth, and she didn't believe him. And maybe that was for the best. She was a detective; she would need incontrovertible proof before she believed in his immortality. "Yes, Abe can be quite a prankster," he said, slipping into the lie. 

She pushed the photo back, smiling, then her lips twisted. "So what's the deal with your watch?"

"It does turn up in the oddest of places, doesn't it?" He might as well keep up the ruse now that the truth was put off a little longer. "I was following a lead down there, regarding the pugio, and must have dropped it."

"A lead?"

"A lead that turned out to be a dead end, unfortunately." He took the photo and propped it up against the framed portrait of Abigail on the desk. "Which is why I didn't bother you with it."

"I see…" Her tone was turning suspicious. Maybe he should have tried pretending that was a joke as well, like the photo? But then her cell phone rang, right on time, and she answered it. "Martinez."

As he waited patiently, Henry wondered—he'd tried to mix things up a little today, and so far there had been no significant effect. When Jo asked him to come along, should he decline? Or maybe he could go along for a little while, point Jo in the right direction, and leave. Or…

"A body?" he asked when she ended the call.

"Washed up at the river. Henry, you in?"

"Certainly."

Henry spent the rest of the morning and afternoon following the evidence in as straight a line as possible. At each leap of logic, Jo gave him her usual interested look, and he would explain his reasoning. After each proved to be true, she stopped asking, accepting his rambling but rapid explanations and moving on. 

This time, they had the case solved and the murderer in custody by seven o'clock in the evening. Jo sat back in her desk chair with a satisfied sigh. "You were on fire today, Henry. It was almost like you'd seen it all before."

"In a way, I have." Twice before, in fact. "I've come across apparent suicides quite often in my medical career. As well as an alarming number of real ones, which makes it much easier to tell the difference. A sad fact, but true."

Jo nodded slowly in sympathy for a moment, then glanced at the clock. "You want to get dinner? I don't think I'm ready to go home yet."

Her tone caused Henry to glance at her in surprise. The last two days, he'd assumed that _he_ was the one pushing them to work late, while trying to avoid Abraham's recriminations. But it seemed that feeling was mutual.

"Sure," he said. "Do you have a preference?"

"Anything is fine..." she said, picking up her coat from the chair. Then she paused. "...except Mexican."

Henry's eyebrows lifted in amusement. "Why? Not a fan?"

"No, I'm a big fan. There's this really authentic place in Queens that I'll go out of my way for, but you know—today it'll be a madhouse."

It took him a second to realize why—it was May 5th. Somehow in his two repeats of the day so far, he'd never noticed that it was Cinco de Mayo. "Agreed. I'd enjoy a quiet night."

They ended up at the precinct's favorite watering hole—Jo rolled her eyes at the _½ price tequila!_ sign—sharing bar food and a good bottle of scotch. He didn't want to get drunk, just maybe tipsy enough that he could work up some liquid courage. But courage for what? Courage to tell her the truth? To tell her that his feelings for her were beginning to change? Was courage even needed if everything was just going to reset tomorrow anyway?

He popped a fried pickle in his mouth—dreadful things that were dreadfully good—and found himself humming again. And this time, the source came to him. It was a Glazunov orchestral piece, [Song of Destiny](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z7TjP7F8h1Q). He stopped humming, mid-motif. Why not the more famous Fifth Symphony that it was based on? At least that he could understand; he'd been in the prime of his life when Beethoven's most celebrated work premiered. Why this more modern version? 

And… destiny. Henry had never much believed in destiny, but the last few days were starting to change his outlook. Was his own subconscious trying to tell him that this loop he was trapped in was fate somehow? Or that he could beat it?

Just how _did_ he go about beating it? 

Henry finished chewing and washed the rest down with another swig of scotch. The warmth trickled down his arms, and just like that, his mindset crossed the line from what-do-I-now to what-the-hell. "Jo…?"

She turned toward him, cheeks flushed slightly, eyes soft and glowing, the color of the liquid in their glasses. "Yes, Henry?"

"If I… told you a secret… would you promise to listen?"

She leaned forward, her elbow resting only inches from where his hand wrapped around his glass. "Of course."

"I… haven't been honest with you, Jo. I'm—" He swallowed. "This going to be harder than I thought. I've been keeping it from you for so long…"

Her lips turned up on the edges, a wicked look that he'd never seen before. "It's okay, Henry. Just tell me. I think I know what it is."

"You do?" Was her earlier acceptance of his story about the picture just a delaying tactic while she gathered more evidence about him? Maybe his hacker friend, Liz, had covered all the digital bases, but there were hard copies buried in file cabinets all over the place…

"Yes, if you tell me your secret, I'll tell you mine…" Her voice had dropped to a whisper.

"Like two children at grammar school?" he teased, just as softly, then realized too late what she was getting at. She leaned forward again, just stopping short of his mouth, her eyes catching his to ask permission. 

It wasn't the secret he had in mind, but he'd been denying this one long enough, too, waiting for the right moment, for when he could be sure that Jo would accept him for who he was. She was too important to him to risk getting involved with her, unless she knew it all. 

But Jo's lips hovered there, tempting him, and the alcohol sang a song to him, a melody of attraction and need that overpowered everything else. So he kissed her. He kissed her deeply, passionately, wishing that this moment could loop forever instead of this infernal day. He tasted the scotch on her tongue and inhaled her clean scent, while his fingers threaded in the hair at the nape of her neck. The rush ebbed finally, and she pulled away.

"Was that it?" she asked, still quiet.

"Not all of it," he admitted. He owed her that. "But maybe we can finish more somewhere private."

The wicked smile was back. "Your place or mine?"

For sex. He would like nothing more, but his conscience wouldn't allow it before she heard everything. And she needed sobering up first. So did he. Perhaps a strong cup of Earl Grey or coffee and the bright lights of his kitchen would help. "Mine."

In the cab, Jo curled up against him. "What was that song you were humming when we kissed?"

He'd been humming again? Perhaps this was destiny, after all. 

Jo was asleep long before they reached the antiques shop, snoring gently into his neck. He had the driver turn around. He made sure she was safely in bed before curling up on her sofa and drifting off, hoping destiny would spare him another repeat.

* * *

The whistle of the tea kettle roused Henry from slumber, and he groaned. He was back in his own bed, with the same pajamas, the same time, the same day, the same everything.

Except Henry. Henry was different. Jo had kissed him and he had kissed her back and there was so much to tell her. But Jo wouldn't remember any of it. None of that had happened for her yet.

He lay in bed for several minutes, a great sense of futility overwhelming him. He could get up, face the day again, and see it through the same way. It would be worth it, to kiss her again. Or maybe he could make it happen more quickly…

He knew she would be in the coffee shop down the way soon. If he dressed quickly, he could be in place before she ever arrived. He could tell her the truth about his immortality, the truth about his feelings, all before the call came about the case. The Song of Destiny played in his mind—this would be the day it all ended.

He leapt out of bed, not caring that he was grabbing the same suit and scarf as Repeat 1. It was there, and it was clean, and he cut a handsome figure in it. Anything to help him make a good impression on Jo.

He sped down the hallway, grabbing his overcoat as he called to Abe, "I'm off early today, I'll grab something out!"

"Really?" He needn't sound that surprised. "Going to visit Adam?" 

"No!" he called from nearly the bottom of the stairs. "I'm going to see Jo!"

He didn't wait for an answer. He wasn't sure how early she would be arriving, indeed, whether he would beat her there at all. He suspected she was an early riser, like he was, mind too full to sleep longer than the body absolutely needed. When he arrived, he scanned the tables. She was nowhere to be found. Good.

He took a seat at the same table they'd occupied on Repeat 2, this time facing the doorway so that he could see her when she came in. He ordered a cup of tea, but held off on any food. He would wait for Jo. He didn't think his stomach could hold anything anyway, the way the butterflies were bouncing around in there.

Every time the door opened, he looked up expectantly, but no Jo. Perhaps in his haste, he'd badly miscalculated the time. He passed the time between taking sips and scanning a newspaper that he'd found discarded on a nearby table, all the while humming to himself. There was an article listing a number of Cinco de Mayo celebrations throughout the city, but there were far more advertisements for cheap booze and all night parties. He wondered if the place Jo had mentioned in Queens was one of them…

Another person entered the coffee shop—finally, it was Jo. The music in his mind abruptly swelled. Her mouth opened in an 'o' of surprise. "Henry?" 

"Come join me," he said. "I'll signal the waitress." The woman saw him and brought over a menu, which she handed to Jo.

"How weird," Jo said, sitting down. "I was just coming to see you… I thought you always ate breakfast at home?"

"Usually. But not always." In fact, he might make a habit of eating out, if it meant seeing Jo a little earlier. "What did you want to see me about?"

"This." She dug the pocket watch out of her coat and held it out in her hand. 

Henry took it from her, pretending surprise but not having to pretend remorse. "I see. I have some explaining to do." He turned it over in his hands. "Where did you find it?" he asked, already knowing the answer.

"In an abandoned tunnel under the subway. In fact, I followed you down there; I thought you were in danger. I was sure I could hear voices, and then…" She frowned. "There was no one. Just your watch."

"Yes. I was there. And I was in danger. But I managed to escape." He couldn't add unharmed, though he had reawakened so just minutes later. He set the watch down carefully, and reached forward to take her hand. "I got out just in time."

"What kind of danger, Henry?" Her eyes were hard with accusation, and hurt— _'Why didn't you call me?_ ' unspoken.

"My stalker. My _true_ stalker, not Clark Walker, held me at gunpoint with an antique flintlock pistol."

Jo's eyes widened. "Whoa, whoa, back up here." She held a hand out to wave off the waitress who was returning to take their order. "Your true stalker showed up, and you're telling me here, now, over breakfast the next day, like it's no big deal?"

"I'm sorry I kept it from you. It was wrong, but I was afraid…" He tried to pour the depth of his feeling for her into his eyes. "...that he would target you, too."

"Henry…" she said, softening. "I'm a trained professional. I could have handled it." She squeezed his hand lightly. "We could have—wait. Kept it from me, as in, for longer than a day? How long have you known?"

His throat felt dry suddenly, so he took a long gulp of tea before answering. "For months."

Her eyes flashed. "Henry!" she whispered fiercely. "Why didn't you bring this to me!"

"I told you. He suspected how much I cared for you, and I was worried he would threaten you if I didn't play along. He's visited me several times since the taxi incident."

"The one where you dropped your watch inside?" Her anger started to mix with confusion. "It… didn't fall out of your pocket, did it?"

He shook his head. The waitress started to come forward again and Henry asked politely. "She's going to keep coming unless you order something. Should I—?"

"I'm not hungry anymore. Goddamn it, Henry, what is going on?"

He signaled to the waitress that he'd pay the check. She frowned but brought it over and placed it on the table with a quiet, "Whenever you're ready."

It was almost as if the waitress was referencing his confession as well as the bill. He took out a ten dollar bill and set it beside the check. More than his tea cost, with a little extra for her trouble.

"I think it might be better if I told you elsewhere," he said in a voice that he hoped was filled with all the remorse and honesty he was trying to show her.

"Fine. Your shop?"

He nodded. He had all of the other evidence there, anyway. "I need you to know, Jo, that I've wanted to tell you what I'm going to tell you for a long time, but…"

"But what?" Her question was a potent mix of curiosity, anger and hurt.

But he didn't know if he could trust her yet? He didn't know if he could burden her with it yet? He didn't know if he loved her enough yet… or loved her too much? He settled on, "It was never the right time."

"Henry." She let out a frustrated huff. "It was always the right time. Even if it was something illegal, we could have worked through it… it's not something illegal is it?"

His immortality? No. At least not in this modern age, when witchcraft was considered a religion at best and a fairy tale at worst. But many of the actions that had kept his secret under wraps, like the falsified documents, the petty larceny and his latest altercation with Adam? Definitely. "I think we should wait until we get to the shop."

She frowned again, harder. But the shop was just ahead, and the two remained silent until he ushered her inside. As soon as the door had closed behind them, she whirled to face him. "Spill. Now."

"Wouldn't you like some tea, or…?"

"No." She walked over to a sofa and sat, patting the cushion beside her with an impatient tap.

"All right," he said, taking a deep breath and sitting down. "My stalker's name is really Adam. If he has a last name, I don't know it. But his most recent alias was Dr. Lewis Farber, therapist."

"The one you were seeing?" Her eyes narrowed. "The one who put us onto Clark Walker in the first place?"

Henry nodded. "He's been watching me a long time, blackmailing me with a secret. A secret we both share. Abraham and he are the only two living people who know." 

Jo had gone very still. "And what secret is that?"

"I'm… I'm not the person you think I am, Jo." He ran a hand through his hair. "I planned to tell you all of this today, but I am still finding it exceedingly difficult. I've told people before, and it almost never ended well..."

"Is it…" Jo said, her voice more calm now. She pulled the photo from her jacket finally. "...related to this?"

Henry barely glanced at it. "Yes. I assume you've studied that photo? What are your suppositions about it, as a detective?"

"Would that help? If I told you what it looks like?" At his nod, she examined it, as if she'd looked at it over and over again. "It is clearly old, or distressed to look old. I'd guess the 1940s from the clothing and hair. It could be a dress-up photo for a party, or maybe clever Photoshop…"

He kept his eyes on the photo instead of her face. "What if I told you that it's exactly that old, and it's not a fake?" He touched each face in the photo in turn. "That is Abraham, as a little boy. That is Abigail, his mother, and my wife. And that is me."

He waited for a response, but Jo was silent. Silent so long that he finally looked into her eyes. She was looking at the photo, slowly shaking her head back and forth in disbelief. Or was it truth that she saw but couldn't accept? "But… how?"

"I was alive in the 1940s. I was alive in the 1800s." He blew out a breath. "I've been alive since 1779."

That was when she finally looked at him. "Are you some sort of time traveler? A vampire..." She chuckled with disbelief. "...or fairy?"

"No," he said. "Just immortal. You always wondered how I seemed to know things, like I'd actually been there, actually lived them. Well… I had."

"And," she said, still processing, "Abe knows about all of it. He's… your son."

"Adopted. Abigail and I rescued him from a concentration camp."

"This Adam, your stalker… he's like you, too?"

"Yes. Alive for two thousand years, or so he's told me."

"I—wow. This is just too much, Henry. How can I possibly believe any of it?"

He could see that she was on the edge, teetering between wanting to believe, and wanting to call him crazy. "I have more proof upstairs. Photos, documents, journals… and Abraham will back me up." Henry stood, and held out his hand to her, inviting her to join him.

And then her phone rang.

Damn. He'd forgotten all about the body and the case. She answered it, her shock from the bomb he'd dropped changing to pure professionalism. But how could he let her go? If they worked on the case together all day, even with him knowing every step to the solution, could they come back to this point again?

"There's a body," she said. 

He waited. She had not asked if he was 'in.'

She stood. "I should…" She tugged at her jacket, zipping it back up, and walking back toward the doors. "I'll call you after work."

"Wait—!" he said, reaching for her. "Don't you want me to come along?"

"I need to… I just need to process all this." She opened the door. "I'll call you." Then she was gone. And with her, the music.

He didn't know how long he stood there dumbly facing the door. But Abe's hand on his shoulder brought him back. "Was that Jo?"

Henry nodded. "I told her."

"You did?" Abe said happily, his voice like an explosion in his ear. "Good for you! How'd she take it?"

"I… I don't know yet." Even in his own ears, his voice sounded weak.

"Ah," Abe said, much more subdued. He reached over and turned the sign to 'By Appointment Only.' "Let's get some tea in you, or... " He studied Henry's face. "Something stronger."

Henry waited all afternoon. He waited all evening. He stayed up as late as he could, daring the clock to switch to six a.m., but falling asleep somewhere near four.

She never called.


	3. Chapter 3

The whistle of the tea kettle roused Henry from slumber, and he didn't bother opening his eyes. Oh, he felt as if he'd slept for eight hours, not two, but the thought of facing yet another May 5th was just too much. He turned over in bed and tried to go back to sleep.

Several minutes later, he heard a call of, "Henry?" from down the hallway. He didn't respond. Instead, he burrowed deeper into his blankets. His door opened. "Hey, you feeling sick? That river water finally get to you?"

With that response, Henry hardly had to ask what day it was, but he did anyway, the covers muffling his voice. "What day is it, Abraham?"

"Tuesday, May 5th." Abe came all the way into the room, concern threading his voice. "Just how sick are you? Do you have a fever?" He pushed back the blankets and placed a hand on Henry's forehead.

"I'm fine," Henry said listlessly.

"You don't sound fine." He lifted his hand. "I'm going to go get the thermometer."

"Don't bother," Henry said, bringing the covers up again. "My body is fine, my mood is not."

"Ah…" Abe said. "Is this about Adam?"

Henry snapped down the blankets so fast that Abe stumbled a step back. "For the last time, it is _not_ about Adam! Will you ever stop harping about it!"

"Whoa, easy there." Abe held up his hands in surrender. "I'm so sorry I said something, once, last night." He backed toward the door. "I'm just gonna let you sleep this off." He closed the door behind him with a click.

Henry let out a long-suffering sigh, not caring that Abe would hear it. He was on his 5th time through May 5th, and he was more than tired of it. Why hadn't telling Jo worked? Surely that should have been the key to breaking this endless series of days? 

And why hadn't she called? Was she in such denial that she couldn't possibly stand to face him that day? If this had been May 6th, she might have shown up at the shop, ready to talk. But he would never know.

He'd told her as gently and clearly as he could. Maybe if he'd been able to show her his evidence, she would have accepted it more easily. Then again, even faced with piles of documents, she could have claimed they were all forgeries. The only thing that she would have to believe is—

If he died in front of her.

He sat up like a spring. Of course! That was how Abigail had believed him. That was how Adam had proven himself as well.

How should he do it? Should he get Abraham involved? Should he waylay her outside the coffee shop and take her to a secluded spot by the river? And then what? Gun? Knife? Poison? Walk in front of a car? And what of the murder victim? If Henry did this before the body was discovered he might put a wrench in the whole investigation while Jo recovered from the shock. No, he couldn't do that. He needed time to prepare. To plan for the best outcome.

He got up and put on some clothes—not his favorites, but a set he didn't mind losing. "Abraham," he said as came into the kitchen. "If anyone calls, could you tell them I'm taking a personal day?" He wasn't certain how long this might take.

"Okay…" Abe said. "Are you sure? You look like you're feeling better. You want some breakfast? What are you up for—?"

"Never mind that, I'll just grab some toast and tea and be in the lab downstairs."

He heard the jingle of the bells upstairs as Abe opened the door for a customer. He couldn't make out the conversation, but by then he was deep in research, humming away. Of all the ways he could die in front of her, which would be the quickest, least gruesome and hardest to fake? 

He had his entire personal history to choose from, and there were deaths that even he had not experienced yet. Better to choose something he knew. Perhaps a syringe full of fast-acting poison. But not too fast—he had to leave evidence behind, evidence enough to prove his claims. 

First, he needed to make a phone call. He flipped through his contact book, stopped on a specific page, then dialed.

"Good morning, this is Dr. Morgan. I hope that I haven't called too early in the morning, but I need to trouble you with a favor…"

* * *

When Jo arrived at the morgue, a good thirty minutes before the phone call would come about the crime scene at the river, Henry was prepared for her. "What is it, Henry? You said it was important?"

Behind him, Lucas was bouncing on his toes, literally. He had been so excited about helping Henry with some mysterious favor that he'd forgotten to shave. He'd likely skipped breakfast, too, though that was probably good. Heaven knew how he would react. "Yeah, what is it?" Lucas asked. His excitement had been rising from the moment of the phone call and didn't show any signs of flagging. "I'm dying to know."

Unfortunate choice of words. Henry couldn't keep a grimace from his face, but he hid it quickly. "All will be revealed very shortly. Detective," he said with a nod. "Jo," he corrected more warmly. "I believe you have something of mine to return."

Jo blinked a couple of times in shock. Then she pulled the watch from her pocket. "I do. But how…?"

"And a photo as well?"

This time she frowned, her brows drawing together more fiercely than he'd seen in any of the five takes of this day. "What is going on, Henry?"

"My apologies. I'm trying to reveal a mystery here rather than helping to create more." He took a few steps away and then turned to face them. "I have a secret. It's one that very few people have ever been privy to. I've wanted to tell you, Jo, for quite a while, but I've never been able to work up the courage…"

Jo cut a look toward Lucas. "Do _you_ know what this is about?"

"Not the foggiest!" Lucas actually sounded more excited than before.

"Lucas is here to help prove my claims, as an unbiased witness," Henry explained. "I trust him to be thorough."

"He trusts me," Lucas whispered to Jo, eyes starry.

"Okay…" Jo said, and her tone had shifted into curiosity. "Tell me."

"I," he said, "Dr. Henry Morgan, am immortal. This coming birthday will be my 236th." He started to unbutton his shirt, one slow button at a time, as he talked. "I can die, but I reawaken in a nearby body of water, such as the East River." He pulled open his shirt to reveal the old gunshot scar. "The first time, I was killed with a flintlock pistol,"—he threw a glance at Lucas, who had reminded him of the inefficiency of the weapon—"at close range. I have not yet found a way of dying that is permanent. Not stabbing, not hanging, not drowning, not illness." He pulled a prepared syringe from his lab coat pocket. "And not poisoning."

And without warning, he stabbed himself in the leg with the needle, and pushed the stopper in, most of, but not all of the way. 

"Oh my god! Henry!" Jo cried, rushing to his side just as he collapsed. 

"Doc!" Lucas shouted, trying to prop Henry up from the other side. "No!" 

Henry had chosen tetrodotoxin because he would die painlessly within minutes. He had just enough consciousness to yank the syringe from his leg and hold it out to Lucas. "Take it. Test it. Verify that this is a lethal dose."

"When I'm gone, Jo…" His muscle control was already going, and his vision was darkening each second. "...call Abraham."

By then his hearing was shot enough that he never heard a response, though that infernal melody of Glazunov drowned everything else out, anyway. Images of his life flashed through his mind, memories of Jo prominent, as they had recently become. A moment later, he was gasping and flailing in the water of the East River.

He bobbed there for a little while, getting his bearings. One of the memories of Jo had been their kiss in the bar on one of the lost days. And a handful of other moments as well. Could it be that not everything was totally reset? Or was he doomed to recall things that no one else would ever remember?

Henry peered into the distance. A car was parked by the river's edge, about the right size and color to be Abe's. He hadn't explained much, just that he was going to break the news to Jo today and would need a towel and a fresh set of clothing by the riverside. After a flurry of back pats and a fierce hug, Abe had shooed Henry out.

He took a deep breath. Time to get to shore before Jo showed up. _If_ she was showing up.

In the car, he toweled off, and asked. "Did she call?"

"Oh, boy, did she call. And that Lucas kid, he was there, too?"

Henry nodded. "I needed someone to test the vial of poison, to prove that it wasn't all a trick."

"You succeeded. Jo sounded like she was barely keeping it together." Abe started the car, fiddling with heat and turning it a little higher for Henry's sake.

"So…" Henry asked, not sure if he was ready for the answer. "...is she coming?"

Abe pursed his lips. "I told her where to come. Guess we'll have to wait and see."

They waited in silence for the first five minutes. The next five minutes Henry started to fidget nervously. Every minute it got closer to the time when the crime scene call would come. If she would just show up here and see him, alive and well, then the call could come a second later. But if it happened before, or while she was on her way…

He might never see her before everything reset again. 

"Abe," he said. "Can you call her for me?"

Abe didn't respond for a moment. "Henry." He slowly placed his hand on Henry's knee and squeezed it gently. "If she comes, she comes."

They sat again, watching the road. Henry usually reawakened near the same spot, the waters near the Manhattan Bridge. So he doubted she was lost. He could imagine her sitting in her car, trying to convince herself that this was some sort of trick, that she wasn't going crazy. That what Henry claimed wasn't possible. That Lucas was in on the whole thing—maybe it was some film school razzmatazz. She might not let him come, even if he wanted to.

Or maybe she was sitting there, thinking she was crazy, that this was her fate, to end up losing the people she cared about, one after another. Maybe Lucas could convince her to get in his car, or get a cab with her. He doubted Lucas was questioning his sanity. He was probably drafting a screenplay in his mind.

A car approached, a dark sedan that could be Jo's. It slowed when it got to the shoreline, but far enough away that he wasn't sure what make or model it was. A figure got out of the driver's side door. The person lifted a hand to shade their eyes, casting their gaze around the area, wearing a set of blue scrubs—

"That's Lucas. Drive closer; he doesn't know your car."

Abe started the car and slowly approached, as much for Lucas's benefit as theirs. When they were close enough for Henry to positively identify Lucas, Lucas broke into a wide smile. There was no one else in the car. Henry's heart ached as if stabbed.

He opened the door and got out slowly, his bones weighed down with disappointment. "Lucas, you came."

"Doc!" Lucas surged forward and wrapped Henry in a crushing hug. "It's really true! You're immortal? Oh my god, so much makes sense now…"

He chuckled, rueful. "I've never been very good at disguising my old-fashioned ways."

Lucas pulled back. "But also that encyclopedic knowledge! I was sure you just had an eidetic memory and spent your nights drinking tea and reading textbooks for fun."

"Eidetic memory?" Henry shook his head. "I have a good memory, certainly, but being able to perfectly recall every single thing I ever saw or experienced for over 200 years…? I shudder to imagine it." 

Lucas cocked his head. "Some pretty bad stuff, huh?"

"You have no idea." He turned to gaze over the water, knowing that by now Jo had received the crime scene call. She'd be heading there, a few miles up river, once again without him in tow. "So, no Jo."

"Sorry, Doc, I tried. I would have been here much earlier if she hadn't interrogated me. She was certain you were messing with her."

Another stab to the heart. "I feared as much."

Abe opened his door; he'd been listening through an open window. "You wanna go after her?"

He thought for a minute. During Repeat 4, he'd waited at the shop, and then his home, for a call that never came. He wouldn't risk that again. "Yes."

"I can try pinging her cell phone," Lucas offered. I have an app on my phone that can—"

"No need," Henry told him with a wave of dismissal. "I know exactly where she is."

* * *

He was expecting the surprise in her eyes, certainly the anger and hurt, but seeing it in person was worse. "Henry," she said, bending down over the body of the victim, her tone low and furious, "Go back to the morgue. I don't know what kind of sick joke this was supposed to be but I don't want to see you today. The other ME's office can handle this one." She turned away.

The other office? Henry knew Dr. Washington and his team could easily handle it, but the loss of trust felt not only like a stab wound, but a twist of the knife. 

She got up and walked away from him. He couldn't let her do that again. Not this time. "Wait, Jo!" he called after her, not caring who heard.

She didn't stop.

"It was poison!" he cried, desperate. "Not what happened to me, but to this victim!"

That made her stop. She slowly swiveled, her face blank. She observed him for a long moment, her face dispassionate, but her eyes still hard. "I'll let Dr. Washington know." She turned and continued to walk away.

Henry's head slumped. At some point, he felt Lucas's hand on his arm to lead him back to Abe's car, murmuring that he'd keep things running at the morgue. When Henry was reseated in the passenger seat, Abe asked, "What now?"

"Back to the shop. There's something I need from the lab."

"Another dose of poison?" Abe asked, incredulous.

As if that would help. Killing himself in front of Jo was clearly not going to work, even if he did it over and over again. "No. Something to knock me out. I can't face the rest of this day."

* * *

Abe barred the door to the lab with his body. "What the hell is going on, Henry?" When Henry refused to answer and turned to head back out onto the street, Abe grabbed him by the arm. "It can't just be what happened with Jo."

But it was—or what it boiled down to. He'd spent five repeated days either hiding the truth or telling her. She'd kissed him once, and what he wouldn't give to have another repeated night like that—but he'd hid the truth from her. It felt wrong to do it again without coming clean. But when he'd tried, she either didn't believe him, or she rejected him. No—it wasn't exactly rejection, more the need for time. Time to process, time to get her head around it and then talk some more.

He chuckled darkly. For once, time was the one thing he didn't have.

Abe had been standing there, hand tight on his arm, waiting for Henry to respond. At Henry's chuckle, he said, "There's more, isn't there?" He let go of Henry's arm. "I was there when Mom left. This is something else."

Henry dropped into a nearby chair. "No… and yes. I'm trapped. By time."

Abe pulled up another chair and sat beside him. "Yeah, I know, Pops, I know."

Henry shook his head. "No, it's not just my immortality this time. I've been living May 5th, this specific day, over and over again. This is the _fifth_ time I've lived May 5th, in fact."

Abe sat back, stunned. "You're serious?"

Henry nodded. "Every day I am awakened by the tea kettle at exactly six a.m. and you ask about English breakfast. Every printed or digital display shows May 5, 2015. Every day, Jo brings my watch and a photo of Abigail, you and me that she found in the part of the subway where Adam confronted me with the flintlock." At Abe's gasp, he waved off his son's dismay. "Every day the same murder victim is found by the riverside and Jo leaves to deal with it."

"And you can't change anything? Have we had this conversation every time?"

"No. Many things are changeable. Like what we have for breakfast after all. Like whether Jo believes me or thinks it's a prank. Like whether I go with her to the crime scene or she leaves me behind. And more." Henry sighed. "But the next day, I wake up and find everything has reset."

"Wow," Abe said, running a hand through his hair. "Do you think it's because you were shot again with the flintlock?"

Henry's eyes widened, impressed. "I've considered that. My answer is: I don't know. It could be." He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, considering Abe for a moment. "This is actually the first time I've shared this with you—I should have tried it on an earlier repeat, but I feared no one would believe me."

"Pops," Abe said, placing his hand on Henry's shoulder, "there's nothing I wouldn't believe about your life now."

Henry brayed a laugh, the first time in days, it felt like. "How could I forget that?" He stood, clapping his hands together. "So! How should we proceed?"

"Do you know where the flintlock is now?"

"No. Adam took off with it, so he could have had it in his possession when he collapsed, or dropped it… Either way, I'd guess it's in police custody—the hospital would have turned it over. Or Jo will have found it herself and done the same."

"Okay, so, use your"—he twinkled his fingers in the air—"powers of persuasion to find it again. And then…"

"What? Shoot myself with it?" Henry swallowed. "What if it makes it worse? What if I reawaken and have to repeat only a partial day instead? Twelve hours instead of twenty-four, perhaps? I'd go mad."

"I don't know," Abe said, frowning. "You should at least know where it is. Make it less likely that anyone else will shoot you with it before the end of the day."

"Good point." He still had his overcoat on, so he made for the door. "Can you give me a ride to the precinct?"

"Are you sure that's a good idea? Jo will be there."

"I believe I can avoid her while she's out interviewing suspects. And I can get Lucas to help with the search, since he'll be at loose ends today."

"Anything I can do other than taxi service?"

Henry turned to see a hopeful look on his son's face. He really did love getting involved in the legwork of an investigation. "Yes. Can you keep an eye on the news today, and take notes? I have to assume that I'll repeat this day, too, and knowing whatever I can use to my advantage in the following days will be highly useful."

"Got it." He grabbed a pad from the desk, and checked his pockets for his keys and smartphone. "But…" he said, pausing, "won't the notes I take disappear in the morning?"

"Yes, but," Henry said, tapping his head. "My memory remains intact."

* * *

After a few hours of secretive work, it turned out that the flintlock was located at the precinct closest to the hospital, which was a relief. That meant Jo was unlikely to have connected the watch and photo to the flintlock and Adam. But he could direct her to it if needed, to help prove his case. 

He didn't know why, but he was absolutely sure now that telling Jo the truth and getting her to accept it by the end of the day was the key to breaking the cycle. And if he failed at every attempt? Then he knew where the flintlock was located, and he could use it as a last resort.

He committed the notes Abraham had made to memory and went to bed that night more contented than he had been since this endless May 5th had first begun.

The whistle of the tea kettle roused Henry from slumber, and he sprang out of bed. He would tell Abe about his current dilemma, then Lucas about his immortal curse, and then see what ideas Lucas had for making a convincing case to Jo. 

At the riverside, Lucas was exclaiming, "This is the coolest thing ever—and I'm including the time I got to be an extra in _Cloverfield_. I can't believe you trusted me with this first!"

Henry didn't disillusion him. "I felt it was time." There, that wasn't too far off the truth. "And I believe you can help me to—"

"Tell Detective Martinez?" Off Henry's surprised look, Lucas went on, "Come on, I know you gotta tell her. But what? Are you gun shy?"

If he only knew. "No, just trying to find the best way to tell her—a way she'll believe isn't a prank and isn't a trick."

"Just do what you did with me! How could anyone think that was a trick?"

Henry let out a mirthless laugh. "I have reason to believe Jo will take a little more persuading."

"All right, so it doesn't matter how you die, right? You always end up here."

"Correct."

"So… use a different method. How about a gun?"

Jo wrestled it away before he could ever pull the trigger.

"How about a knife?"

Jo was sure that it was an elaborate prank with fake blood and sleight of hand.

"Hanging?" 

She had the psych team down before he'd placed his head in the noose.

"Maybe trap her somewhere with you first."

By the time Henry got back to the closet where he'd left her, she'd picked the lock and wouldn't answer the phone.

By then, Henry had also explained the repeating days to Lucas. "Oh my god, you're living a real life _Groundhog Day_! Except it's Cinco De Mayo! That is just too much. You could call it 'Cinco de Loopo' or something—"

"Lucas—"

"Okay, sorry. So try a different time of day. What about after the crime scene?"

She thought it was a trick. Again.

"After the case is solved?"

She thought she was just tired and seeing things.

"After dinner?"

She believed him, but needed time to process.

"After she kisses you?"

But tipsy and sleepy meant Henry had to make sure Abe was waiting in the wings to get her to the river. And once there, she believed him, again, but the next day restarted as always. Perhaps she had to accept him, clearheaded.

"Maybe she needs corroboration? From me, from Abe, maybe get Detective Hanson and the Lieutenant involved…" 

Things were starting to get desperate if he was considering telling everyone he worked with. If it worked, then he was going to live a very different life than he'd been used to. If not, no harm done, everyone would forget anyway. He nodded. "Let's do it."

It took several tries and visits to both the psych ward and jail, but they managed it, finally. Faced with overwhelming evidence, Jo had accepted the truth in record time. She let him take her to dinner at that Mexican restaurant in Queens that she liked so much, asking him quiet questions and really listening to his answers. They stayed until closing, and then drove around the city until the wee hours of the night.

They ended up at the riverside, their voices hoarse from talking. She parked the car facing east, so that the sun would rise over the Manhattan Bridge. He glanced at the clock: 5:55 a.m. He dared to reach over and thread his fingers through hers. "Jo, there's another thing I've been meaning to tell you."

"There's more?"

"As hard as it was to tell you the truth, I had to make sure you knew before I added this." He could see the sun truly creeping over the horizon. This was it, now or never. "I love you. I fought it for a long time, because there's really only ever been one other person who really knew me… like Sean did for you…"

Her eyes got soft, the rising run glittering in them. "Henry…"

He leaned toward her, and she toward him, their lips touching—

And then he was left with only the ghost of the memory as the whistle of the tea kettle roused Henry from slumber.


	4. Chapter 4

Henry closed his eyes, disappointment weighting his bones so heavily he felt he would sink into the mattress. He pretended to sleep when Abe came to check on him, he feigned illness when Jo arrived later, he didn't bother with the chicken soup left by his bedside. 

And then when Abe finally turned in for the night, Henry got up and roamed the streets of New York alone, walking until past the time his feet were sore, leaving the city proper. Somewhere around Long Beach, the sun rose and he trudged on until he found himself back in his bed again.

The next time he didn't leave the bed at all. A long string of repeated days proceeded much the same; Henry stayed in bed, eschewing human contact. He lost count of the number somewhere around fifty, knowing that he was drowning in depression, but too far gone to care. His only comfort was that the Song of Destiny seemed to have left him alone.

Then one day he felt the stirrings of ennui, that he needed to do something, to go somewhere. Could he be happy, living the best version of that day he'd had so far? Maybe, briefly. But every time he started over, it would feel like a shadow of the first time, going through the motions until nothing had meaning. He needed to find a purpose. Something that could keep him going through the long days. 

Abe knocked at the door around seven a.m. "Henry? Hey, you feeling sick? That river water finally get to you?" The same as every day he'd stayed in bed. 

"Just tired," he said this time. Of course his body was fine, but his mind was beyond exhausted.

Abe opened the door. "Conscience keep you up?"

Henry sighed, unwilling to have another go at the topic of Adam. "No, other things are both—" Then he stopped himself. He hadn't seen Adam in days, even weeks of repeated time, not since the first few. What if the key to all of this was not Jo… but Adam? 

"Henry?" Abe asked with a frown, coming farther into the room.

"I'm going out," he said, slipping his feet onto the floor. "Don't worry about breakfast." Once prepared, Henry headed for the door. 

Abe called after him, "If Jo calls, what should I say?"

"Tell her she can handle it without me!"

"Handle what?"

"Whatever! She'll be fine!"

Just before the jingle of the front doors obscured it, he heard Abe grumble, "I swear, you get weirder every year—"

At the hospital, Henry listened gravely to the doctor explain Adam's condition, pretending it was the first time. "How long will it last?" he asked, as he had before.

"I wish I knew—could be a lifetime." The doctor put his hand on Henry's shoulder briefly. "I'm sorry."

Henry waited until the doctor had left to quietly pull up a chair. "Good morning, Adam," he said, and Adam's eyes seemed to twitch in response. "I'm not here to gloat—at least not this time. You see, I've had an interesting few months." He shook his head. "No, I've had a terrible few months. It's May 5th today, and it's been May 5th every day for somewhere north of fifty repeats."

The eyes seemed to twitch again. 

"I don't know if it's the flintlock's fault—maybe it is. Perhaps if I had stabbed you with the pugio, you'd be repeating the day as well. I once promised you that we had eternity together. It seems that it's only an eternity for me."

He could have sworn the eyes widened in alarm, though it was probably a trick of the light.

"So I just wanted you to know, you've gotten your revenge after all. I'm trapped just as much as you are, just in a different way." He wanted to be angry, but all the rage he'd felt at this situation had long gone out of him. "You won't remember it tomorrow, but I thought you deserved to know."

He rose slowly, looking out the windows to the city washed in morning light. 

"I'd release you. In fact, I should. You'd have the rest of the day to do as you like. Expose me. Kill me again. Threaten everyone I hold dear. Ignore me completely. It won't matter. It'll all start over again, you the same as you are now, and me back in my bed, facing another endless day." 

He turned back to the bed to find the eyes glittering and wet. What was Adam thinking? Did Adam wish for Henry to do just that? But could he? Had Henry come back around to mercy again after rejoicing in his cruel victory?

He didn't know why he was trapped in this loop, after all. He'd spent the original May 5th deceiving Jo once again, so he'd thought coming clean would break the cycle, but that hadn't worked. But he'd also gloated over Adam's still but conscious form. Perhaps forgiveness and mercy would break it instead.

"I'm sorry I did this to you, Adam. It was wrong, and it was cruel, and the first step to becoming more like you. I swore I would never do that. I told you a wasn't a killer, but this was ultimately much worse."

He pulled his gloves from his pocket, and the syringe he'd prepared dozens of times for himself recently. It only took seconds to add the poison to the IV and secret the syringe away again. "See you soon," he said. "Or not, if you choose."

And then Henry was walking down the hall and out of the hospital. He didn't pay any mind to the security cameras, that they would track that Henry had left Adam's room just before he disappeared. If he were questioned, it didn't matter, he would admit to it. He'd been arrested more than once in his lifetime, what was another? But out on the street, breathing in the brisk city air, the sounds of the bustling city filling his ears, his conscience felt clearer than it had since May 4th, months ago. He began to walk, not really paying attention to where he was going.

No. That wasn't entirely true. He had a direction. East. Toward the river.

When it came, he was expecting it. "Hello, Henry," rasped the voice in his ear. Adam stood behind him, a hand weighing his shoulder. "Enjoying your morning stroll?"

Henry didn't flinch, he just stopped. "I see you are fully recovered," he said without turning to face him.

"It took you long enough." The sardonic twist in Adam's words didn't make sense. He'd only been awake for a few hours in that state by Henry's reckoning. 

Then Henry felt numb with cold, like reawakening in Arctic waters. He turned slowly, dreading the truth. "Long enough…?"

Adam had found clothes somewhere, perhaps a set he kept hidden near the river. His hair was still damp, and the fabric he wore was thin. But his eyes were ablaze with enough light to heat them both. "Haven't you guessed? I've spent the last two months not only trapped in my own body, but trapped in May 5th, the same as you."

Henry stumbled a step, the Song of Destiny blazing back to life in his head, its minor motif feeling now like a knell of condemnation instead of fate. "No…"

"Yes…" Adam stepped closer. "And instead of being out here, free to choose how to spend this endless day, I was back there. Doubly trapped."

Henry's stomach dropped—they were _both_ trapped—at the same time he bristled at Adam's implication. "I may have stuck you with the syringe, but you pulled the trigger on the flintlock first. You may very well be to blame for this."

"As much as you, you mean?" Adam wrapped an arm around Henry's shoulders, causing Henry to stiffen. "Then let's go get it, eh? I'm sure you know where it's located. Should be easy to acquire given your connections."

"No!" Henry said fiercely, pulling away. "Even if I did know where it is—which I do—it must be left alone until all other possibilities are exhausted!"

"You don't still fear death, do you?" Adam sneered. "I think I've disproven that theory."

Henry sneered back. "For a man who's lived ten times longer than I have, you're hardly ten times smarter. One shot"—he lifted one gloved finger—"I died and reawakened. Nothing I've done in all those years has released me from this curse. Second shot"—he lifted a second finger, pedantic and knowing it—"we get stuck in a loop of time. Fifty days of trying, and we're still here. If there is a third shot?" He held the fingers in front of Adam's face. "We could both be repeating the same hour, even the same minute, until we both go mad."

Adam, far from being stunned by this information, simply smirked. "It might be a nice change."

Henry narrowed his eyes. The longer he talked to Adam, the more he remembered why he'd stabbed him with that needle. "Joke all you like. But I'm not willing to risk it." He started walking away from Adam, not caring if he was following or not.

Adam caught up quickly, pacing him. "It's not a matter of what you're willing to risk. If this is _my_ fault, as you suggest, then perhaps _I_ am the one who will have to find a way to break the cycle. You can't afford to dismiss any of my ideas."

Henry stuttered to a stop. Adam was right. Had Henry spent fifty days railing against his destiny only to find it wasn't even truly in his own hands? He had been a rat in a maze, running through obstacles to reach the promised cheese, just to be placed at the beginning all over again. And now he knew he should have just stayed at the start; there was no cheese at all.

"That's right, you see it now," Adam's voice taunted just behind his ear. "I didn't need to be even two times smarter to see it first."

Henry closed his eyes, pressing them shut against despair. After all the months of fearing that Adam would blow up his life, he really and truly had. "So," he said quietly, forcing himself to say the words, "what do you propose we do?"

"We?" Adam patted him on the back. "All I need _you_ to do is free me each morning. If I need you I'll let you know. Be ready."

It pained him, almost physically, but he nodded.

Adam walked past Henry a few paces, and then turned back. "And Henry? Every time you choose not to come free me, I'll know. And remember."

* * *

The days stretched ahead of Henry like a calm sea. He had nothing to do, nothing to try, no one to see. It really didn't matter what he did each day, because nothing he did would affect the timeline in the slightest. As long as he showed up at the hospital each day, the rest was his to spend as he saw fit.

He didn't have to meet Adam at the water's edge. Most days he never saw Adam at all.

For a goodly number of days, he caught up on his reading. All the novels he'd once decided were too frivolous when there were medical texts to study instead. Or he spent his days reading historical accounts of men and women from times and places he'd never experienced. 

He put in long hours at the piano, brushing up on his Beethoven, his Chopin, his Debussy. At first, he focused on getting pieces he'd once known well back up to performance-level, then he worked on new ones. Concertos, condensed scores, some of the trickier Bach fugues. He even tested out some jazz, which delighted Abraham to no end. 

His lab got more use than usual, especially since he never had to restock chemicals or replace equipment. He tried to reproduce some of the more bizarre deaths that he'd seen over the years, just for the practice. He made sure to secret away clothing by the water's edge first, though, so as not to arouse Abe's suspicions.

When he had done all of those to his heart's content, he expanded his repertoire. He studied foreign languages he'd not yet learned, he experimented with new recipes and cooking techniques, he learned to play tennis, to water ski, and to perform sleight-of-hand.

Soon he had improved himself in every way he could think of, so he looked outward. All of those notes Abe had taken back on Repeat 5? Henry chose one, then two, maybe ten things to change. An accident prevented, a mugging thwarted, a cat saved from a tree. He played the horses and beat the house at blackjack and then gave away all the money to people at shelters.

None of these things were permanent, but if he could improve someone's day, at least once, then it was worth it.

Other than his visit to the hospital, there was one thing he made sure to do every day—to see Jo. He would call around eight o'clock in the evening, claiming to feel much better. Would she like him to bring by dinner—to take a break on the case?

Every day she said yes, gratefully. He brought her everything from hot dogs from the vendor to baked ziti from the kitchen, to Ethiopian from across town. They talked and ate, and he slowly got out the story of her life. Moments from her childhood, good and bad times with her father, memories of Sean, stories from the police academy, everything. And he reciprocated, not holding back anything, even when his answers made her frown with puzzlement.

And sometimes, on the days when his heart was feeling too full, he'd spend the whole day with her, solving the case, and then going out for drinks, somewhere new every time. Sometimes it was scotch and soda at the pub, or martinis at the lounge, or, despite her laughing protests, tequila in the tackiest of Cinco de Mayo celebrations. They'd end with a kiss, or watching the sun rise, or curled up together on her couch.

And when the whistle of the tea kettle would rouse Henry from slumber, he would smile and look forward to the next time.

Today, Henry was sitting on a bench beside the river, enjoying the light May breeze and halfway through a new novel. He'd lost count of the repeats by now. Was it seven hundred? Or maybe a thousand? He couldn't rightly recall the last time Adam had come to find him. It wasn't as if Henry had made himself scarce. He'd made sure to let Abe know where he was going at all times. Was Adam making any progress? Obviously not any real progress, or they'd be waking up to a new day. And honestly, the less he had to see of Adam outside that hospital bed, the better. As long as Adam let him live his life, however strange it had become, then he was content. 

No sooner had the thought crossed his mind, then he heard a splash and a gasp in the middle of the river. Of course, think of the devil and he will appear. He lifted his eyes from his book and watched Adam swim for shore.

Adam pulled himself up, water dripping from his body. "Hello, Henry," he said, unconcerned about his state of undress. "What a happy coincidence. Or was this planned?"

Henry took the time to mark his place in the book and place it in his briefcase before answered. "I've spent quite a few mornings here. First time I've seen you."

"Serendipity, then. I was coming to see you today, on this our thousandth day." Ah, so a thousand. A question answered.

Adam sat beside him on the bench, and reached behind him for a knapsack Henry hadn't seen. A prepared change of clothes. 

"Testing a theory, I assume?" Henry asked politely, nodding at the water. 

"As I assume you did." Adam pulled a hooded sweatshirt from the bag and began to put it on.

Henry nodded. "I'd ask if you were having any luck, but it seems a moot point."

"Indeed." A simple pair of sweatpants completed his outfit. "I've come to a decision. We've both wasted enough time trying to solve this apart. You can't break it alone, and neither can I. So…" Adam lifted the bag a few inches from the seat of the bench, and this time, Henry heard a clank of metal inside.

Henry was instantly on guard—in a way he hadn't been for almost a thousand days. Had he—? Adam reached inside and pulled out the pugio… and the flintlock. He'd been busy today.

Henry jumped to his feet. "Not this again. I told you before—what if it makes this worse?"

"Oh, but see, Henry, I've been thinking. We ended things so one-sided. I killed you, but you never killed me."

"I _refused_ to kill you. That hasn't changed."

"And why not? What if this is what the timeline wants? Its two bastard sons finally able to move on? Think about it, Henry. All of time has stopped, because you made the wrong decision."

Henry shook his head in denial, but he knew that Adam's theory was credible. Still, he couldn't do it, not now. He hadn't said goodbye to Abe this morning, or to Jo. He couldn't follow through without at least doing that.

Adam seemed to read his mind. "I'll let you say goodbye first. Hell, I'll even grant you the rest of the day. Meet me back here at 5:45am."

Could he really consider this? After everything? He'd spent most of his time in leisure by necessity. He could probably spend another decade like this. After all, keeping things as they were, Jo would never age, and neither would Abe. He could have a thousand versions of this day with them, a million, and they'd always be there.

But was it really living…?

Henry sighed. "Very well. 5:45 it is."

Adam's smile was smug. "You've made the right decision this time, Henry." He slung the bag over his shoulders and walked off, whistling a tune.

Henry walked in the other direction before it could get stuck in his head. He didn't know how Adam had learned about that dreaded earworm, but somehow he had.

* * *

"Good morning, Jo."

Jo looked up from where she crouched by the body. "Feeling better?"

It was the usual excuse he told Abe, that he was going in to see the doctor. At least the excuse he'd been using for the past couple hundred days or so. Henry almost never even took a sick day, so Abe treated it seriously. So he simply answered, "Much better, thank you."

"Glad you could make it," she said, rising and gesturing to the body. "Looks like a jumper, but something about it isn't sitting right with me."

It never did, which was why he knew she'd be fine on the days he'd spent away from her. But this might be the last day he ever spent with her, so he decided not to play along. "You're right. He was poisoned and pushed from the bridge."

Jo frowned. "You got that from looking once."

He took a deep breath. All right, 'here goes,' as Abe liked to say. "From looking hundreds of times."

"Hundreds? Henry, what?"

He stepped closer and lowered his voice. "I have seen this crime scene hundreds of times. The victim's name is Benjamin Schafer. Time of death approximately 6:35 a.m. When I test his blood later, I'll find that he was dosed with arsenic. The evidence trail will lead back to a coworker, Jake Hubbard, who was up for the same promotion. He breaks under questioning and everything is wrapped up by evening."

During this recitation, Jo's face went from puzzlement, to suspicion, to complete disbelief. Arms folded, she said, "Henry, you've been acting strangely all week, but this takes the cake."

"You're right, I have been acting strangely. And the watch and the photo you're keeping in your jacket are all part of it. You want to ask me about it, and in fact, you came by earlier today to ask, but I was out at the doctor. I wasn't actually out at the doctor, I was out avoiding your visit, because there are only so many times that I can either explain the truth or deceive you about it."

She took a quick step forward, grabbing his upper arm and dragging him a few steps from the others working the crime scene. "What the hell, Henry?! You'd better tell me what's going on, or—"

"I doubt you'll believe me."

She frowned at being cut off, "Try me."

"I have. Many times. There's about a 50-50 chance that you'll believe me or think I'm trying to trick you. And that's just telling you about the watch and photo. The other complication is far harder to accept, and that's saying something."

She lifted her hands in defeat. "Okay, forget it. I can't deal with you if you're going to be like this." 

Henry caught her arm before she could turn away. "Jo, please. I know I'm not good at this. If there's one thing I've learned trying to tell you over and over, it's that. All I ask is that you hear me out. Really," he said, leaning in close to her ear, "hear me out."

She frowned, thinking about it. He knew that she was still puzzling out what exactly had happened with the pugio and the subway at this point, so here was the turning point, the point that was so elusive. He'd only gotten her to believe and accept a few dozen times out of hundreds. It might have been more, those days when she said she needed to think and left him, but he'd never know.

Today, the day that might really be the last, he needed her to know and believe. To be there with him until it was time to meet Adam. 

He hadn't done that on May 4th, the day before all these May 5ths. He'd taken what he feared was his last breath, bleeding out on the grimy subway floor, fearing he was leaving Jo for good.

She still hadn't spoken. "How about this," he said, "let me tell you, a bit at a time, as we're working the case. And when it's closed, I'll tell you whatever's left."

Something passed over her face. A spark of curiosity, the need to dig for the truth that had served her so well as a detective. Even before she nodded, he knew he had her this time.

"All right," she said, starting the car as the ambulance pulled away with the body, "We're alone now. Start talking."

"Very well. What day is it today?" She cut an annoyed look at him. "Humor me."

"Tuesday, May 5, 2015." She glanced at the car dashboard. "It's all right there, if you want to know the time, too."

He was all too aware of the time. 10:43 a.m., which meant they were on schedule—for now. "Yesterday, for you, was May 4th. That day, you followed me to the subway, watched me get off at Fort Hamilton station, and then followed the sound of a gunshot down into the maintenance tunnels. But when you got there, all you found was my watch and an old photo."

"First of all, how do you know this? Were you hiding somewhere, watching me? Second of all, 'for me?' What does that mean?"

"I know because you've told me what happened, many times before. And 'for you,' means that, as far as I can determine, for the rest of the world, this is the first May 5, 2015 they've ever experienced." He left out Adam, that part could, and would, come later. "For me, I've been living the same day over and over again for over a year."

"Henry…"

It wasn't annoyance anymore, but concern. Concern that her best friend (he knew she considered him that and more) was losing his mind. So he said, "I thought I might be imagining it all at first, too. That maybe I was actually unconscious in a hospital somewhere, and dreaming every possible combination of events for this day. And maybe even now, this moment here isn't real. But I can't live thinking that. Everything feels too real, too mundane, too tedious to be a dream. I live the day, and no matter how it ends, I wake up in bed to the sound of the tea kettle whistling."

Jo exhaled slowly, a stream of air whistling through her lips like that damned tea kettle. "So say I believe you." It didn't sound as if she did, but that she was trying to give him the benefit of the doubt. "How did you arrive at this conclusion?"

"Other than waking up the same way everyday, and having the same conversation with people everyday, I also learned that no matter what I did to change things, for good or ill, everything reverted back. Everything except my memories of the day."

"So you remember everything—does that mean you remember everything we've talked about?"

Henry felt a grin starting. She wouldn't be asking if she wasn't testing his theory. And the only way she'd really accept the theory was if she had tested it out or herself. "Yes," he said. "Even if we hadn't had the same conversation ever and over again, I'd remember."

"So how many times have you told me about this… time loop you're stuck in?"

"This is the first time, actually. I've told you everything else about me, from my childhood to now, every mystery you've ever wanted to know, but not this."

The car came to a stop at a red light—they weren't far from the morgue now—and she tapped her fingers on the steering wheel. "Why everything else, and not this?"

"Because," he said, only coming to the realization at that moment, "I had to believe the loop would finally break someday. If I told you, and then things went back to normal, how would you ever trust what I said again?" His throat was closing up painfully. "There was a time when the woman I cared most about in the whole world decided I was insane, and she had me committed. I… I couldn't bear that happening again."

Jo pulled into a parking space, and shut off the engine, but she didn't get out of the car. "Henry," she said, placing her hand on top of his, "I never knew that." Then she tilted her head. "Or did I? On another one of these May 5ths?"

"Yes, but never in reference to this. When I told you my other unbelievable secret."

"Your other unbelievable secret?" she asked, eyes going wider. "What could possibly be—

"Let's wait until you believe this one, before I get into that one. I've always told you that one only, and it never seems to stick, so I'm going to try something different."

Jo looked at him with that tilted glance again, and then she gave him a short nod. "All right, convince me of this one, and we'll see."

Inside the morgue, before they entered the doors, Henry said, "Now watch. I'm going to walk in with you and Lucas is going to greet me with a movie reference, which I didn't get the first time. That wouldn't normally be strange at all, considering that I haven't been to see a movie in the theater in years, not since special effects became more important than—" He stopped, worried he would give too much away. "That's not important."

"What is important, Henry?" she asked, more amused than annoyed.

"That I can give you the following conversation, word for word: 'Good morning, Lucas. Has our body arrived?' He will say, 'Morning, Doc. Yep, looks like no one can run from death, not even Quicksilver.' I reply, 'Beg pardon?' He returns with, 'Oh, sorry, I forget that blockbuster movies are complete wastes of time, in your words, although this time I'd have to agree with you. What was with that Clint Barton, secret family man storyline? Did the writers ever pick up a Hawkeye comic book even once?' Then he apologizes to you for spoiling the storyline."

"Word for word?" Jo said. "I have to see this."

Henry pushed through the glass doors. "Good morning, Lucas. Has our body arrived?"

Lucas didn't look up from where he was cutting the jogging pants from Benjamin Schafer's body. "Morning, Doc. Yep, looks like no one can run from death, not even Quicksilver."

Henry avoided looking at Jo. He didn't want to affect Lucas's reactions. "Beg pardon?" 

Lucas put down his tools with a grimace. "Oh, sorry, I forget that blockbuster movies are 'complete wastes of time,' in your words, although this time I'd have to agree with you. What was with that Clint Barton, secret family man storyline? Did the writers ever pick up a Hawkeye comic book even once?" Then he noticed Jo. "Oops, sorry, spoilers."

"I don't even know what that meant, so don't worry. Henry, a word?" Taking him aside, she asked quietly. more than a little shaken, "Was that a reference to the Avengers movie or something? I haven't seen it—"

"You usually rent those things, I know." Her eyebrows raised. "We've watched a number of movies together in your apartment, although mostly the classics. I would actually consider purchasing a Blu-ray now that I've enjoyed the advantages of yours." He could see her processing that information. They'd never watched a movie at her place before May 5th. "For example, you love _Gone With the Wind,_ but you didn't love that I pointed out all the historical inaccuracies."

Jo went very still. "I've never told anyone how much I love _Gone With the Wind_."

"Yes, it always seemed frivolous for a down-to-earth New York detective." He let that sink in and turned toward Lucas. "Run a toxicology screening for arsenic."

"You're that sure?" He looked down at the body. "I don't see any of the usual signs of ingesting arsenic."

"It wasn't ingestion, it was injection." He came to stand beside Lucas and peeled back the fabric from the hip area. "You can see the injection site here."

"Arsenic, huh? Then this wasn't suicide, was it…?"

"It was murder," they finished together. "Give Jo a call when you get the results back. We're going to interview suspects."

Lucas was still examining the puncture wound. "Are you—?"

Before he could say it for the umpteenth time, Henry finished, "—Quicksilver? No, but I can be speedy when I need to be."

"You got one of my comics references?" Lucas said, voice tinged with incredulous laughter. "I thought I'd never see the day!"

"You _can_ teach an old dog new tricks, I suppose." Under the right circumstances.

Jo followed him out, waiting alone in the hallway to start reacting. "Okay, I don't know what to believe. At first, I thought you had to have planned that with Lucas. He's a film buff, maybe he's also a great actor, I don't know. But that _Gone With the Wind_ thing? Was it just a lucky guess?"

"No, as I said, you told me on one of these May 5ths." He knew it would take more convincing, and he was prepared. "So, let's keep on the case. If you're willing to entertain the possibility that I am really repeating this day over and over, then we should head to the Mann and Walters law firm to interview Jake Hubbard. He is the murderer. The first time, we put in all the legwork to find him, interviewed several possible suspects, including friends and neighbors. That's truly unnecessary."

"And if I am not willing to entertain it?"

"Then by all means, let's do our research first."

"To the precinct then. I'm sorry, Henry, I can't be certain that this isn't a delusion, caused by whatever happened to you in that subway tunnel yesterday."

"I completely understand. May I predict our interactions?"

She gave him something like a half-frown. "Uh… I guess." Then she walked ahead of him, her heels ringing in the hallway.

"So I was looking into the vic's history," Hanson said as soon as Jo and Henry approached his desk. "Name's Benjamin Schafer, an up and coming lawyer with Mann and Walters. Been winning about eighty percent of his cases, which is pretty impressive for a guy only practicing for a few years."

"His latest case wasn't going well, though, was it?"

"No," Hanson said, pointing to an article he had up on screen. "The evidence against the company he was defending was so damning, that everything he and his team tried just seemed like stalling."

"He was supposed to give his closing arguments today," Henry said with a nod.

"Yeah, he was… how did you know that? Do you read the newspaper from beginning to end?" Hanson scoffed.

Henry shrugged. "I like to stay well-read. By the way, there's a good used lawnmower in the classifieds today. You should look into it."

"Really? Wait." Hanson scratched at his head in confusion. "Karen been talking to you? Never mind, I better call now, or she'll be on me for the rest of the week." He sat down and started to search.

Jo shook her head lightly, a stop-showing-off gesture if he had ever seen one. She sat at her computer and Henry pulled up a chair beside her. "So maybe he knew he was going to lose," Jo mused, "and couldn't take the pressure? It's an old, old story in high-powered professions."

"And so he pretended to go jogging and gave himself a shot of arsenic before tumbling over the side? There are much easier ways to go."

"Since when do we ever deal with easy around here?" Jo asked sardonically. "Especially since you came into my life."

"True. But have you ever wanted easy?" If she did, she might have believed his story every time, and they would already be heading over to interview Jake Hubbard. And she would never have continued to work with him past that first fateful meeting. 

She smiled. "You got me." Then she opened the NYPD search engine and started compiling a list of people to interview.

The neighbors hardly knew him. Henry kept a running commentary before each door would open:

"She saw Schafer once at the mailboxes. Another time they got their mail mixed up. He didn't speak."

"He used to pass Schafer in the hallway on the way back from his morning jog. Turned up his nose at his dog."

"She noticed that Schafer was always getting in really late at night, and leaving early in the morning. His apartment was just a place to sleep."

Henry could tell Jo was starting to come around. After all, how could Henry have put all these people, ones she had chosen at random, up to answering her questions exactly as predicted? When the super let them into Schafer's apartment—"He'll say that Schafer never put in any service requests. That he was a good tenant."—they could see the neighbors were right. The place only held the most utilitarian furniture, even the bedroom was spare, though the closet was filled with tailored suits. The refrigerator was almost bare, only a couple sets of dishware, very little in the trashcan. 

There was a laptop bag hanging from one of the chairs at the breakfast table, but no laptop. Jo lifted the bag. "Do you think it went into the river, too?" Henry opened his mouth but she cut him off. "Don't tell me, Jake Hubbard has it."

Henry simply spread his hands.

"We'll find it hidden in his office?"

"Hidden in his storage unit. He had to get the information on the case from it first, and he hadn't had time to get the password cracked."

"Fine, let's go to Mann and Walters." She closed the door behind them and started toward the stairwell. "It makes sense as the next stop, if he spent all his time there." 

"Not all his time—he was a regular at a few restaurants around his law firm. One of the waitresses at the corner cafe gave us our first lead. Benjamin used to come in almost every day, and give the same order. Black coffee, one sugar. He'd eye the pastries but never get one. Until the day before. He came in right before closing, purchased a single biscotti and took a long time to slowly dissolve it, one portion at a time."

"That was the lead?" Jo asked, following him out of the building. "A biscotti?"

"No, the real lead was that she'd seen a man following him for a few days. She went to the window and watched the man follow Benjamin until the end of the block, when they turned."

"Let me guess. Matching Jake Hubbard's description?"

Henry spread his hands again.

"Get in the car, Henry. We're going to talk to this waitress."

They did, and she repeated the story, as she always had. By the time they walked into the law firm, Jo was asking, "Do we even have to interview anyone else?"

"Not really," Henry said, "Do you want to speak to anyone else?"

"Not really." Henry's heart felt lighter than it had all day.

They told the receptionist why they were there. She offered to walk them back, and he accepted, though he knew the way by now. "Jake Hubbard?" Jo asked, showing her badge. "We have a few questions about the murder of Benjamin Schafer."

* * *

"It's actually quite pretty," Jo said, looking out across the water. "I haven't been here at night in years. Never at sunrise." 

He'd never much thought of the East River as a place of scenic beauty, more as a place to leave as quickly as possible before anyone arrested him, but he could see Jo's point. The pre-dawn light danced in the rippling waves. "I've been here at night all too often. And the waters are quite cold, even in the middle of the summer."

She took his hand, squeezing. In less than fifteen minutes, Adam would show up. Jo had heard the whole story, again, and maybe because she'd accepted the time loop, she readily accepted his immortality, and the way he reawakened in water. She let him show her all of his family photos, all of his documents collected through the years, she listened to Abe tell her all the stories he'd had to keep in over the years with joyful glee. 

She'd heard all about Adam, listening with growing horror. She was angry that Henry had kept this part secret as well, but she'd understood after a while. At least she said she understood. She'd insisted on waiting with Henry. He'd told her that Adam was coming to try to help him break the loop, since they shared it as much as their immortality. Finally, they were working together, as Adam had wanted from the beginning.

But he hadn't told her what the plan was yet. 

He didn't quite know how to. What if breaking the loop meant that they were also ending their immortality? He had finally come clean, all the way clean, about everything, and it might all be over by sunrise.

"Hello, Henry. Hello, Detective."

Adam was early. Henry hadn't heard him approach. Beside him, Jo stiffened, her hand going to her gun.

"Oh, you're safe from me, Ms. Martinez. If you're here, I assume that Henry has told you everything, as he did with Abigail. You know your gun is useless."

She turned and took in his appearance. The pre-dawn light made him look more sinister than usual, but Jo's face stayed cool and impassive. "I know that if you betray Henry, I can make sure you enjoy a cold dunk in the river."

Adam laughed. It was a sound Henry had rarely heard, and it wasn't unpleasant, just surprisingly light. "I like her, Henry. It's too bad I won't get to know her better."

"What—?" she started to say, but Henry was already rising.

Henry held out his hand, his fingers twitching with nervous impatience. "The pugio, please." 

Adam pulled it from inside his jacket, slowly and deliberately placing the hilt in Henry's empty palm. He removed the flintlock next, lifting the nose skyward, though he didn't cock it. An air of solemnity settled over Henry, as if it were two hundred years ago, and the two were about to duel at first light.

"Henry, you didn't tell me this was part of the plan…" Jo's voice was tense. "Do you really think killing each other is going to solve this?"

"It might solve it, it might make it worse…" Adam answered for him. 

Henry finished, never taking his eyes from Adam, "Or it might do nothing at all." 

"Worse? What does that mean?" 

Her voice had sounded closer; she must not try to stop them. "Jo, please! Step back. I don't want you to get hurt as well."

"You _really_ did not tell her what we were planning, did you?" Adam sneered. "What it means, my dear Ms. Martinez, is that killing each other might not only break the loop, but end our immortality. If the two of us lie here dying or dead as the clock turns six, then the plan will have _worked._ "

"Henry, no…!"

He'd known this moment was going to be difficult, both for him and for her, but in the moment it felt ten times more painful. "I'm sorry, Jo." He lifted his pocketwatch on the chain: 5:58. He took a step forward. "Are you ready?"

"For two thousand years."

He placed the tip of the pugio at Adam's heart, knowing exactly where it would easily slide between the ribs. Adam cocked the gun and placed it over the old scar. "Then 3… 2… 1…"

The flintlock nearly kicked him backward in its violence, the explosion and Jo's cry of terror ringing in his ears. But he had thrust with the pugio a millisecond before, expecting that. Henry fell to the pavement, and vaguely noted Adam doing the same. Jo appeared above him, tears streaking her face. Any words she was saying were muffled. He was already slipping away, the sunrise dimming to darkness…


	5. Chapter 5

The whistle of the tea kettle roused Henry from slumber, and he moaned in despair. He should have been either floating in the East River, or have passed on to whatever lay beyond, not finding himself in the same bed, in the same pajamas.

It had _not_ worked. It was too early to tell whether the loop would get worse yet, but he was not going to stay in bed until it did. He might never see Jo again. With a sudden flash of inspiration, he got up, dressed in one of his throwaway outfits and shouted, "Meet me at the river!" at Abe as he passed the kitchen. He heard a faint, "Again?!" but then he was out the door and hailing a cab.

He was at the Manhattan Bridge in record time, the Song of Destiny singing through every fiber of his being. Paying the cab driver quickly, he stepped onto the pedestrian path. There weren't many people out at sunrise, but there were a few. He knew what he was looking for though, and soon spotted it—a man dressed in very familiar workout clothes, and another one pacing him. Benjamin Schafer and Jake Hubbard. He sprinted toward them from behind. "Mr. Hubbard! Jake Hubbard!" he shouted, loud enough for Schafer to hear it as well. 

The two men both stumbled to a stop, Hubbard's eyes going wide with anger and fear. Schafer took a few steps toward Hubbard. "Jake? I didn't know you—"

"Run, Mr. Schafer!" Henry warned. "Run until you get home and lock the door!"

He frowned and put his hands up. "Okay, buddy. What's going on? Do you know this guy, Jake?"

"Never seen him in my life," Hubbard said. " _You_ go home, asshole." The sweat breaking out on his forehead belied his bravado.

Henry walked toward Hubbard slowly, his own hands up. "And let you use that syringe full of arsenic on Mr. Schafer?" He got close enough to wrestle him down if needed. "I don't think so."

"Syringe of what?" Schafer laughed, incredulous. "What nonsense is—?"

But then Hubbard roared in frustrated rage and pulled out the syringe, waving it like a loaded gun. Schafer finally took the hint. He jogged backward a few steps and then took off running. 

"Call the police!" Henry shouted after him, and then charged Hubbard, grasping his wrist tightly.

"Get _off_ me!" Hubbard yelled, but Henry only had one agenda here, to take care of the arsenic. The syringe had to either be: A) wrested from Hubbard, B) thrown over the side of the bridge, or C) injected into Henry.

"Give me the arsenic, Mr. Hubbard," he said as they struggled. "You'd only be arrested and charged with Mr. Schafer's murder, likely by the end of the day. You don't have the stomach for this!"

"No way, you'll just take it and use it on me, you nut job!" He angled the tip of the needle towards Henry. Not his favorite of the three options…

"Then throw it over the side! It'll wash away and no one will find it. Attempted murder is a much lighter sentence…"

"Forget it! My life might as well be over. Who would believe me over you and the firm's golden boy?" He turned it toward himself.

Finding reserves of strength he wasn't sure he had, Henry pulled it toward his own leg. The surprise of it made Hubbard release his grip, and the needle plunged into Henry's skin, through the trousers he'd known he'd never see again. He collapsed almost immediately, holding the syringe until the stopper had released all its poison, and even then kept it in. It would vanish with him, into that alternate realm where all his possessions went.

Hubbard gasped and ran. Henry knew it didn't matter. He'd be found again before the end of the day. He wasn't a criminal mastermind by any measure.

With a swirl of memory, Henry broke gasping from the surface of the river. He felt refreshed in a way he hadn't in a thousand days. With no murder to solve, there would be no interruptions, and he could have Jo to himself all day long. And he knew exactly what his next step would be.

He saw Abe waving from the shore line, and with broad strokes, he headed in that direction.

* * *

"I was hoping you could explain it to me."

Henry closed his hands around the watch and pocketed it. Feeling the weight of all the many times he'd said this, he answered, nodding at the old photo, "It's a long story."

Jo studied his face for a moment, and looked past him to Abe's hopeful expression. "As long as there are no new cases that come up, I've got time."

"Then if you don't mind, I have a visit to make. Many of my explanations will make much better sense afterward." He held out his hand to her. "Would you accompany me?"

"All right." He could sense that Jo had been expecting another denial, another crazy story, but since he was offering an explanation, she was willing to listen. "I'll go."

Abe patted his shoulder. "Good luck!" he whispered. "And bring her back for dinner if it goes well."

Jo didn't ask any questions on the drive over. Instead, they spent the ride making inane conversation that only thinly veiled Jo's intense curiosity. When they arrived, her eyebrows drew together, but she still didn't ask. She quietly followed him through the doors, past reception, into the elevator and down the hall. He gestured for her to enter the room first. Before she did, she asked a question. "Who's this?"

"Adam," he said, and then added with a huff of quiet laughter. "My nemesis." 

"Your…" She looked into the room, clinical and white, the only sound the beeping of the heart monitor. "...what?"

He led her in, coming to stand by the side of the bed. Adam's heart rate immediately jumped at the sight of both Henry _and_ Jo. "Good morning, Adam. I know I'm late, but with good reason." To Jo, he said, "This is who I went to meet below the subway yesterday."

"And now he's in the hospital?" She grasped his arm. "Henry, what did you do?"

Henry opened his mouth to tell her, but then shook his head. Pulling up a couple of chairs from the corner of the room, he said, "I need to go back a little further than that."

He started with the first time he and Jo met and the day Adam had called him, worked his way through the false stalker, the flintlock and pugio, and ended with the events of May 4th. He didn't skip anything—every facet of his immortality, every case they'd worked where he'd used first hand knowledge. She peppered him with questions. "So you died in that accident?" and, "He slit your throat?" and, "He was your therapist?" as well as, "But there was no blood! How is that possible?" And all along the way, Adam's heart rate had gone up and down, proving that he was listening intently.

When he was done, he took her hand. "There's a lot more, two hundred years more, and I promise to tell you when you're ready."

He watched her face as she came to grips with everything, as he had so many times. She had told him one of those other times that she suspected there was something not quite right, that she had been collecting information about him in a secret file, waiting until she had enough evidence to confront him—questioning him about the mystery of the watch and photo were only steps along that path. 

"Thank you, Henry. For trusting me."

He didn't respond; he didn't really deserve her thanks, not after all the ways he'd deliberately deceived her. But he wouldn't do that today. "I have a question for you now." At her curious look, he asked, "What do you think I should do about Adam?"

Adam's heart rate spiked again as Jo stood, gazing on him with hard eyes. "What will happen if you leave him like this?"

"The doctor called it 'locked-in' syndrome. He can see and hear everything, but he can't respond, save for a quickening heartbeat. As far as I know, unless I—or someone else—releases him, he'll remain like this forever."

"I see." She put back on her jacket and walked through the door into the hallway. 

Henry's eyes rose in surprise. Henry had been willing to leave Adam like this for eternity, but Jo?

He followed her out and down the hallway, where she waited for him. "He could hear everything? Our whole conversation just now? How awful." She grimaced and shook her head. "He doesn't belong here."

"Even if that means—?"

"He belongs in jail." Before he could argue, she said, "I know, he'd be hard to hold anywhere. But I've got a few friends at the Bureau, and I think we could convince them he's a serious suicide risk. Failing that, tell them the truth. I'm sure we could find a place where he could be kept alive. And paying for his actions." Then she took both of his hands and squeezed them. "If you're okay with that."

Henry felt a rush of love for her then, as strong as he'd ever felt. This would change everything—and it might break the cycle. Revealing Adam's immortality would likely reveal his own. Dangerous, but after a thousand repeats where nothing changed, it felt worth it. A thought tempered his excitement for a moment. "Yes. I'm okay with it. But I would have to—" He lowered his voice to a whisper. "—kill him."

"Maybe you wouldn't. I have an idea."

* * *

There were many details to work out, but when Jo set her mind to something, it got done. All of their close friends and coworkers got involved, once Jo and Henry had explained to Reece and Hanson the basics—though not the entire truth—of what was going on. They, following Liz's digital research, raided Adam's safe house to acquire evidence against him. Lucas got the full truth, because he'd proved himself trustworthy and clever during the loop. Abe was on board immediately, needing nothing but the opportunity to crush Jo in a hug. "Whatever this kid wants, she gets." 

Just as sunset painted the waters a warm amber, Henry swam out to the middle of the East River, a dark wetsuit both keeping him from getting too chilled and making him harder to see. He treaded water, waiting for the signal. Lucas and Jo were connected via video app. Jo hadn't told Henry just how she was going to do it, only that she wanted a turn at Adam herself.

And then there it was—Lucas waving his arm frantically from the shoreline. All Henry had to do was wait…

Adam's head broke the water, his lungs taking in a huge gasp of air. Henry lunged, wrapping his arm around Adam's neck before he could get his bearings. "Henry!" Adam rasped. "Getting your little girlfriend to do your dirty work now? With every loop, you're becoming more like me. By the time we repeat a thousand more times, you'll be—"

Henry kneed him in the kidneys to shut him up.

It had to be Henry out here in the water. If Adam fought him off and escaped, he might hurt someone else, and Henry couldn't risk that. No one else would die on May 5th, not when he could prevent it. He started to drag him toward shore, Adam struggling in his arms the whole way. It was slow going; swimming with one arm while keeping his arm tight enough to restrict Adam's air and keep him weak—but not tight enough to kill him, or he'd escape again.

Jo's FBI friend and her team were waiting at the shore, as well, Lucas and Abe standing well back. He didn't know what Jo told her, maybe that Adam was hiding in the river and that Henry knew where to look. He wasn't sure what explanation she might have given for Adam's nudity, though.

Adam spit and clawed like something feral as they cuffed him. "This isn't over, Henry!" he screamed. "All of your secrets will be decimated! Your life is over!" As the doors to the van closed and cut off his ranting, Henry paused. Something else was different. Then it hit him. 

The music that had been his constant soundtrack for a thousand days was totally gone.

* * *

"You like it? I know it's probably nothing like your mama used to make, but…"

"It's wonderful, Abe," Jo said around a mouthful of chicken enchilada. She swallowed. "My mom wasn't much of a cook. _Abuela_ , on the other hand, would tear you a new one for putting sour cream in this."

"And I'd let her…" Abe said, lifting his margarita to his lips and taking a sip. "...if she'd give me her recipe."

Jo shook her head vehemently. "She never revealed them to anyone but her daughters, and she was gone before I could learn from her… but I believe you would have charmed them out of her."

"Then, to Abuela!" Abe lifted his glass to clink all around.

"To Abuela!" Jo and Henry chimed in. This is the way he should have spent every night, enjoying a quiet dinner and drinks at home. It was the way he _would_ spend the next thousand, repeated or not.

As Jo finished her last bite, she asked, "Can we get out those photo albums you mentioned? You did promise to tell me all about the last two hundred years when I was ready. I'm ready."

She laughed over all his various outfits, awwed over Abe as a baby, marveled over the people he'd met and known personally, listened to the stories from before that, and when it seemed he'd said it all, she found another interesting new question to ask.

"If I tell you everything, what will we talk about tomorrow?" he teased her when it was nearly two a.m. 

"I don't believe you've even scratched the surface, Henry. But if that day ever comes, there'll be plenty of memories to make together." She kissed him lightly on the cheek, and it felt more intimate, more full of love, than any other kiss they'd shared. After a while, she rested her head on his shoulder and listened to him talk. She was asleep by three. 

He thought of making her comfortable on the sofa, getting her a pillow and covering her with a blanket, but he didn't want to leave her alone. Not one minute less than he had to. Especially since she'd likely be gone by morning, each in their own separate beds as they started another loop. So he put his arm around her and settled against the cushions, lulled to sleep himself by her steady breathing.

* * *

The whistle of the tea kettle roused Henry from slumber, and he had a difficult time opening his eyes. His head felt muffled and there was the most terrible ache in his neck…

"Wake up, you lovebirds, tea's ready." Abe's voice exploded in his ear and he jumped to a sitting position, Jo tumbling off him with a startled shout.

"Ughhh…" she groaned. "I feel like I barely closed my eyes." She squinted up at Abe. "Is there coffee?"

"I'll put on the percolator!" he told her, far too cheerily.

But all of this was going on while Henry was taking in his surroundings. He was not in his own bed. He was not wearing his pajamas. He was on the sofa, in a rumpled set of clothing with his leg pressed up against the woman he loved.

Henry jumped to his feet. "It's May 6th!" he cried, pumping both fists in the air.

"Are all the Morgan men this cheery in the morning? Because that is going to take some getting used to."

Henry smiled down at her. Her messy halo of brown hair and the pressure mark on her face from sleeping on his shoulder was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. "Not always. But most of the time." He sat beside her again, and because he couldn't stand to wait another minute, he cupped her chin and pulled her into a long, searching kiss. Pulling back and resting his forehead on hers, he said, "Next time, I'll make sure he lets you sleep in."

He'd expected her to teasingly say, 'Next time?' but instead, she trailed a finger down one side of his neck. Her touch lit his nerves on fire. "Try every time."

The tea—and the coffee—went cold.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks, Forever Ficathon, for this great idea for a fest. I don't think I would have ever thought to write time loop fic for Forever otherwise! ♥


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